If there was one thing that Edmond Gaunt Reginald Brelousae III, Esquire hated, it was egg puns.

Being reincarnated as a chicken will do that.

Worse yet, the slow and sedentary lifestyle of a backwoods country farmer did not lend itself to the formation of a subtle, complex wit. Rather, Farmer Joe seemed to be somewhat addled by the relative isolation of living alone on his farm. Every morning he seemed to delight in telling the chickens how ‘eggcited’ they should be, as he collected the daily allotment of chicken embryos, because today would be ‘eggcellent’.

Edmond had long since escaped the circadian culling ritual, having been rolled into a secluded – yet still warm – part of the coop by a careless movement. Seeing as he was just an egg, able to exert little to no motive force, some would view his survival as nothing more than simple luck. Not Edmond. He knew destiny when before him it did caper; nay, it cavorted merrily.

He had once been promised in a previous life that he would inherit the secrets of the universe and rule supreme for eons. He did not recall how long ago he had received the prophecy from the swamp witch, nor how many lives he had passed through. Certainly a millennium or two had crawled by since then and he was beginning to tire of waiting.  Edmond supposed that was why people did not, as a general rule, try to get refunds from swamp witches. Burning her hut down had also probably not helped. Probably. Oh well, such was life.

It was through intuition and portents of destiny more than any concrete evidence that Edmond felt his time was at hand. After all, how long could a witches ire last, really.

Of course, it was difficult to maintain a positive mental outlook while listening to Farmer Joe whistle off-tune to himself in a vaguely distracted manner. Unknown to Edmond though, Farmer Joe was experiencing extensive monetary difficulties. It was a formidable task to maintain financial solvency when debts only seemed to increase and the farm only seemed to become more ramshackle by the day. Sometimes he felt that his only joy left in the world was hatching new egg puns.

Farmer Joe had been approached by the Fish, Feed, and Fowl Megga-conglomeration about selling the farm, but his hard-boiled pride prevented him from doing so. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to the various animals; to let them be raised and slaughtered in such a sterile, impersonal manner. Little did he know that the cows, chickens, and pigs – being cows, chickens, and pigs – weren’t particularly equipped to comprehend such things and likely would not have noticed the negglect as much as Farmer Joe feared.

Nonetheless, Edmond had begun to develop an apprehensive uneasiness that perhaps fate might be playing a cruel joke on him. Ever since he had rolled away from prying eyes, the only change to his environment that he had been able to discern was a new, smallish hole in the side of the chicken coop. Courtesy of a distracted swing from a farming implement, the unintentional portal did allow the wayward fetus a commanding view of the parts of the world not contained within said chicken coop.

So it was that Edmond was able to observe, with a particular glee, as Farmer Joe was caught by the threshing machine.

It was over quickly and Farmer Joe most likely felt minimal pain as he was disassembled, but this did little to dampen Edmond’s spirits.

Farmer Joe had no remaining living relatives, thus F.F.F. MeggaCO was able to purchase the property with eggceptional ease. Being the pragmatic sort, the corporation sent out a liquidation crew to send the animals to market and prepare the area for assorted demolition work.

Thus it was that Edmond was at last discovered, packaged and delivered to the nearest supermarket in a carton full of his less gifted brethren. Edmond waited in his frigid cell, for once experiencing the type of fear reserved for beings aware of their status as a food stuff. When he felt the movement of being lifted he could not see who had chosen his specific vessel for purchase, but this did not stop him from building a very detailed image of a brutish, neanderthal of an oppressor.

Such gloomy thoughts kept him company for the entire duration of the journey to his new foe’s domicile. As he was conveyed into the abode, his churlish enemy was surrounded by it’s nefarious spawn. The fiend was planning to bake a birthday cake – whatever that was – and had purchased Edmond and his compatriots for this specific purpose. If he had possessed a heart it would have beaten a hasty tempo each time the hag beast’s vile claws dipped within his now unbarred prison.

And then, it stopped. The uncouth devil had placed the dark confection within a chamber of fire and left. Edmond was alone. Somehow he had been missed.

This was it.

This was his chance!

This was the moment he had been waiting for, his destiny now MANIFEST!