The Hot, Searing Metal, 100 word story

I crack open one and them another. All but lifeless they fall onto the hot, searing metal. It is hissing against the hot, searing metal. There is popping and writhing and, finally, twitching against the steaming and sizzling. The empty shells are but tossed aside. Still, from the hardening matter upon the hot metal, some dying protest is hissed out.


I watch, and poke, and prod, and smile. The popping and twitching has all but ceased. And smile I do, as my task is nearly through. No one has died, I was watching my morning eggs get fried.