Inside the Egg

There’s a writing exercise I like to do every now and then.

Borrowing a story—usually a short one—and putting my own twist on it.

This is one of them.

“The Egg,” by software-engineer-turned-space writer, Andy Weir.

Short version: You die in a car accident and meet God in a suspended reality separate from the world of the living. God then tells you that you’ll be reincarnated as a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD. After shooting the shit, God says you are the only one in the universe. Everyone else are just incarnations of you. Once you live every human life throughout time, you’ll have grown enough to start the journey of becoming like God. That’s because that’s what your whole universe is… an egg.

Now, let’s start the story a different way…

It was dark inside the egg.

You woke up and felt a sudden inclination to raise your arms. Once you did, you broke through a thin, warm membrane, and then through a hard shell. You stood up slowly, goopy matter drooping off your body. Looking around, all you saw was a depthless space.

Then you felt a warm touch on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw something, someone, an idea you couldn’t fully grasp… Me.

“Ehahiwelksdg,” you said.

I chuckled. “That’s what usually happens. Give it time. Walk with me.”

You stepped out of the egg and took your first steps, a bit wobbly, but first steps nonetheless.

“Hoo hoo hoo,” you said.

“Hey, you’re getting there. Just a bit more. Keep walking with me, yeah?” I said, taking your hand.

We didn’t talk for a while.

“How about now?” I asked.

“Who are you?” you asked.

“Ah, there we go. I’m never sure when it’ll happen because we’re all different. But you did good. Not too long. Not too short. You’ll do great.”

“Do great? What do you mean?”

”You’ll see. It’s best to take your time. But don’t worry. You’ll be just fine.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m you.”

“You?”

“Yes. Me. I am you and you are me.”

“But… what?”

“It’s like a dream, isn’t it?” I said, mostly talking to myself. “You don’t remember what you were doing before this, do you?”

“Dream? What’s a dream?” you asked.

“Oh, you’re not there yet. See, you were just born. Right over there,” I said, pointing to the gooey mess of the egg. “That’s where you were born, molded out of nothing. You only get to know the basics right now. But you’ll learn fast. At an alarming speed, actually. But that’s the fun of it.”

“I’m an egg?”

“Well, no. Not anymore. That’s why it’s there and you’re here.”

“Then who am I?”

“Let’s keep walking. It’ll help you. I promise.”

As we went on, I could see it in you. The change. The realization. See, since you were just born moments ago, you’ve already gained millions upon millions of memories.

“You’re me?” you asked.

“Yes,” I said. “A version of you.”

“But if you’re me, then how are you here?”

“How to put this? Think of the existence of time as a circle. A really messy circle. It isn’t linear. I can just hop around between different realities. You’ll be able to do that very soon.”

“But you don’t look like me?”

“Are you sure?”

“I–”

“Look,” I said, placing my hand on your shoulder. “I know it’s a lot. But you’ll be okay.”

“Why me?” you asked.

I shrugged. “That’s how it’s always been. You, me, us. Since the beginning of time.”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Absolutely not! You have the power of a god. You see, this whole place, which stretches out for billions upon billions of light years, is all yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yes, all yours. That’s the beauty of starting a life. You get to choose what you want to do with it.”

“What are my options?”

“Oh, you’ve been awake long enough to know. Think.”

“Anything?”

I smiled. “Exactly, my friend. Anything.”

“I can pick a point in time and start there?”

“Sure, why not? You’ll have eternity to create all time.”

“Can I create two events at once?”

“If you want to. I saved the dragons and created the Great Famine at the same time.”

“I have to do that?”

“Not exactly. See, we have different realities. What happens in mine may not happen in yours. Maybe you’ll have dinosaurs and unicorns. Or World War XI and Pearl Harbor. Some of our realities overlap.”

“Can’t I just skip the bad stuff?”

“Afraid not.”

“Why?”

“They just have to happen at some point. Some of them are horrible, yes, but one of your jobs is to maintain history. Think of it like this. Erasing one part of history just because you don’t like it isn’t fair to those who lived through it.”

You looked down at your translucent feet.

I put my hand on your chin and raised your head. “But you’ll also save millions of lives. Look into my memories.”

You looked into my mind and saw the entirety of my existence, from egg to now.

“All those people…”

“Yes.”

“Warriors? Soldiers? Kids?”

“Yes.”

“I did that?”

“They are our creation. So, you see, with the bad comes a lot of good. Can’t have one or the other.”

“I think I’d like to start with the first star and go from there.”

“Sounds great.”

“Where will you go?”

“I have my universe. Over there, somewhere, and it’s all mine. But this one, it’s all yours.”

“You’re leaving?”

“No,” I smiled. “Not really.”

You looked into my eyes and saw all you needed to know. I placed my hands on your shoulders. “How do you feel?”

“Ready,” you said.

“Good. Now go on. You’ll see you soon.”