Member-only story
Shades of Blue
Short Fiction
Theo never understood the blue eggs. To him, the practice was a bizarre treat, an alien splotch of colour. But his grandfather treated them with reverence.
When the last days of the old year whittled down like a burnt candle, Theo would watch his grandfather shamble down the stairs. His grandfather was a frail man with broad shoulders. He never cooked, except to earn the ire of his wife. The last time he tried, the vintage coils of the stove stank of burnt lemons and charcoaled bits. The smell still clings to Theo’s mind with all the stubbornness of a lost sock.
Even so, his grandfather made an exception for blue eggs. Theo would sit at the table with the doily covering and watch as his grandfather heated the stove. His grandfather used to hate the stove. Not for the lemon burning incident, but because the electric coils meant there was no longer any purpose for a butane flame.
“It is not the same.” His grandfather grumbled as he puttered between the counters. It was a U-shaped kitchen. “Fire used to mean something. Like the Games, or the burnt ends of the offering. When you make food, do not forget the fire, Theodore. Yes?”
Theo nodded. He knew as a child that if his grandparents did not make sense, the best action was always to nod.
