The Egg

The Egg is a short tale written by Andy Weir. It has been into two kinds of Anglish.

Arcthunder's Wending
Þiss is an Anglish uf "The Egg", a  by Andy Weir. Þiss is written wiþ  uf ,  spelling, and no  frum. bi Arcþunder.

Þe Writ
on way home when þu.

It was a. Nuþing, but nunþeless. Þu left behinde a wife and twoo children. It was a deþ. Þe E.M.T.s  best to , but to no. Þi body was so utterly shattered þat þue wert better off, me.

And þat's when þu met me.

"What… what ?" Þu asked. "Whare am I?"

"Þu swelted," I sed. No in grinding wurds.

"Þare was a… a, and it was sliding…"

"Yup," I sed.

"I… I swelted?"

"Yup. But don't feel bad abute it. Evryone swelts," I sed.

Þu lookt abute. Þare was nuþingness. Naut but þee and me. "What is þiss ?" Þu asked. "Is þiss þe afterlife?"

"More or less," I sed.

" þu God?" Þu asked.

"Yup," I. "I'm God."

"My kids… my wife," þu sed.

"What abute ?"

"Will be alrite?"

"Þat's what I like to see," I sed. "Þu swelted and þi main  is for þi . Þat's  rite þare."

Þu. To þee, I didn't look like God. I looked like sum man. Or maybe a woman. Sum , maybe. More uf a  teacher þan þe almity.

"Don't wurry," I sed. "Hie'll be alrite. Þi kids will þee as flawless in evry way. Hie don't hav time to . Þi wife will weep on þe uteside, but will be  . To be fair,  wedlock was falling . If it's eny, she'll feel  gilty for feeling lisst."

"O," þu sed. "So what befalls nu? Doo I gow to hevven or hell or sumþing?"

"Neeþer," I sed. " be ."

"Ah," þu sed. "So þe Hindoos wer rite,"

"All troþs ar rite in hir own way," I sed. "Wak wiþ me."

Þu followed along as we strode þroo þe. "Whare ar we gowing?"

, I sed. ""

"So what's þe ord, þen?" Þu asked. "When I, I'll be but a , rite? A baby. So all my  and evryþing I did in þiss life won't ."

"Not so!" I sed. "Þu wiþin þee all þe knoledge and undergowings uf all þi  lives. Þu naut but don't mun hem rite nu."

I stopped wakking and took þee by þe showlders. "Þi sowl is more, , and þan þu canst  . A  minde can only  a slivver uf what þu art. It's like sticking þi finger in a glass uf watter to see if it's hot or colde. Þu put a tiny deal of þieself into þe , and when þu bringest it back ute, þue hast  all þe undergowings it had."

"Þu hast ben in a for þe last eit-and-forty years, so þu hast not strecht ute yet and felt þe rest uf þi  . If we hung ute here for long enuff, þu'd start munning evryþing. But þare's no  doing þat between each life."

"Hu meny times hav I ben edfleshhamed, þen?"

"O lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of lives." I sed. "Þiss time abute, þue'lt be a  girl in 540 A.D."

", what?" Þu stammered. "Þu'rt sending me back in time?"

"Well, Time, as þu knowest, only  in þi . Þings ar sundry whare I cum frum."

"Whare þu cummest frum?" Þu said.

"O ," I. "I cum frum sumwhare. Sumwhare elce. And þare ar uþþers like me. I know þue'lt to know what it's like þare, but trewþfully þu woudn't understand."

"O," þu sed, a little dune. "But bide. If I yet edfleshhamed to uþþer steads in time, I coud hav mieself at sum ord."

"Wissly. Befalls all þe time. And wiþ boþe lives only aware uf hir own lifespan þu don't even know it's befalling."

"So what's þe ord uf it all?"

"?" I asked. "Ernestly? Þu'rt asking me for þe meaning uf life? Isn't þat a littel ?"

"Well it's a fair ," þu.

I looked þee in þe iye. "Þe meaning uf life, þe I made þiss hole alshaft, is for þee to ."

"Þu meanest mankinde? Þue wilt uss to ripen?"

"No, only þu. I made þiss hole alshaft for þee. Wiþ each new life þu grow and ripen and becum a bigger and grater ."

"Only me? What abute evryone elce?"

"Þare is no one elce," I sed. "In þiss alshaft, þare's only þee and me."

Þu stared at me. "But all þe folks on Erþ..."

"All þee. Sundry uf þee.

"Bide. I'm evryone!?"

"Nu þu'rt yetting it," I sed, wiþ a slap on þe back.

"I'm evry mennish being hoo evver livved?"

"Or hoo will evver liv, yes."

"I'm Abraham Lincoln?"

"And þue'rt John Wilkes Booþ, too," I.

"I'm Hitler?" Þue sed,.

"And þue'rt þe he killed."

"I'm ?"

"And þue'rt evryone hoo followed him."

Þu.

"Evry time þu someone," I sed, "þu wert unfairly wraking þieself. Evry deed uf kindness þu hast dun, þu hast dun to þieself. Evry  and sad brietom evver undergon bi eny man was, or will be, undergon bi þee."

Þu þot for a long time.

"Whye?" Þu asked me. "Whye doo all þiss?"

"Forþat sumday, þu wilt becum like me. Since þat's what þu art. Þu'rt one uf mi kinde. Þue'rt mi childe."

"Whoa," þu sed,. "Þu meanest I'm a god?"

"No. Not yet. Þu'rt a . Þu'rt still growing. Once þu hast livved evry mennish life þroo-ute all time, þu wilt hav grown enuff to be born."

"So þe hole alshaft," þu sed, "it's but..."

"An ey." I anqueaþed. "Nu it's time for þu to on to þi next life."

And I sent þee on þie way.

Frith's (TimeMaster) Wending
Ðis is an Anglish of "The Egg" by Andy Weir. Ðe has sum  of , along wið marks of Anglish (Frið, not Hurlebatte) stafing and  stafing. by TimeMaster (staddeled off Arkðunder owing to TM standing strongly no-Norse Anglish (sunderly "ey", as ðis word is far too short), "thou" (also, ðis word shuld be moast likely be stafed "ðu", not "ðue", as it wuld be a swið mene word like "we"), and sum bits of Hurlebatte's stafings that uðers need to be liking less).

Þe Writ
Yu wer on yure way home when yu died.

It was a. Noðing, but noneðeless. Yu left behind a wife and two cildren. It was a deð. Ðe  ðeir best to  yu, but. Yure body was so utterly shattered ðat yu wer better off, trust me.

And ðat's when yu met me.

"What… what happened?" yu asked. "Where am I?"

"Yu died," I said streht-forwardly. No in grinding words.

"Ðere was a… a, and it was sliding..."

"Yup," I said.

"I... I died?"

"Yup. But don't feel bad abute it. Eferyone dies," I said.

Yu looked abute. Ðere was noðingness. Naht but yu and me. "What is ðis ?" yu asked. "Is ðis ðe afterlife?"

"More or less," I said.

"Are yu God?" yu asked.

"Yup," I. "I'm God."

"My kids... my wife," yu said.

"What abute ðem?"

"Wil ðey be alriht?"

"Ðat's what I like to see," I said. "Yu nu died and yure main is for yure . Ðat's good stuff riht ðere."

Yu. To yu, I didn't look like God. I looked like sum man. Or maybe a woman. Sum , maybe. More of a  tecer ðan ðe almihty.

"Don't wurry," I said. "They'l be alriht. Yure kids wil yu as flawless in efery way. Ðey didn't haf time to . Yure wife wil weep on ðe uteside, but wil be  . To be fair, yure wedlok was falling . If it's eny, she'l feel  gilty for feeling freed."

"Oh," yu said. "So what happens nu? Do I go to hefen or hel or sumðing?"

"Neiðer," I said. "Yu'l be ."

"Ah," yu said. "So ðe Hindoos wer riht,"

"All ar riht in ðeir own wey," I said. "Walk wið me."

Yu followed along as we strode ðruh ðe. "Where ar we going?"

, I said. ""

"So what's ðe ord, ðen?" yu asked. "When I get born, I'l be but a , riht? A baby. So al my and eferyðing I did in ðis life won't ."

"Not so!" I said. "Yu haf wiðin yu al ðe knowledg and undergoings of al ðe lifes. Yu naht but don't mun ðem riht nu."

I stopped walking and took yu by ðe sholders. "Yure soul is more, , and ðan yu kan . A  mind kan onely  a  of what yu ar. It's like stikking yure finger in a glass of watter to see if it's hot or kold. Yu put a tiny dele of yureself into ðe , and when yu bring it bak ute, yu haf  al ðe undergoings it had."

"Yu haf been in a for ðe last fourty-eht yeres, so yu haf not strecced ute yet and felt ðe rest of yure  . If we hung ute here for long enuff, yu'd start munning eferyðing. But ðere's no  doing ðat between ece life."

"Hu meny times haf I been born eft, ðen?"

"Oh lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of lifes." I said. "Ðis time abute, yu'l be a  girl in 540 A.D."

", what?" yu stammered. "yu'r sending me bak in time?"

"Wel, I gess . Time, as yu know, onely in yure . Ðings ar sundry where I kum from."

"Where do yu kum from?" yu said.

"Oh ," I. "I kum from sumwhere. Sumwhere else. And ðere ar uðers like me. I know yu'l want to know what it's like ðere, but treuðfully, yu wuldn't understand."

"Oh," yu said, a littel dune. "But bide. If I yet born eft to uðer steds in time, I kood haf myself at sum ord."

"Wissly. Happens al ðe time. And wið boðe lifes onely aware of ðeir own lifespan, yu don't efen know it's happening."

"So what's ðe ord of it al?"

"?" I asked. "Ernestly? Yu'r asking me for ðe mening of life? Isn't ðat a littel ?"

"Wel, it's a fair ," yu.

I looked yu in de iye. "Ðe mening of life, ðe I made ðis hole alwurld, is for yu to ."

"Yu mene mankind? Yu want us to ripen?"

"No, onely yu. I made ðis hole alwurld for yu. Wið ece new life yu grow and ripen and bekum a bigger and greter ."

"Onely me? What abute eferyone else?"

"Ðere is no one else," I said. "In ðis alwurld, ðere's onely yu and me."

Yu stared at me. "But al ðe folks on Erð..."

"Al yu. Sundry of yu.

"Bide. I'm eferyone!?"

"Nu yu'r getting it," I said, wið a slap on ðe bak.

"I'm efery man ho efer liffed?"

"Or ho wil efer lif, yes."

"I'm Abraham Linkoln?"

"And yu'r John Wilkes Booð, too," I.

"I'm Hitler?" yu said,.

"And yu'r ðe he killed."

"I'm Jesus?"

"And yu'r eferyone ho followed him."

Yu fell.

"Efery time yu someone," I said, "yu wer blooting yureself. Efery deed of kindness yu haf doen, yu haf doen to yureself. Efery happy and sad  efer undergoen by eny man was, or wil be, undergoen by yu."

Yu ðoht for a long time.

"Why?" yu asked me. "Why do al ðis?"

" sum day, yu wil bekum like me. Sið ðat's what yu ar. Yu'r one of my kind. Yu'r my cild."

"Whoe," yu said,. "Yu mene I'm a god?"

"No. Not yet. Yu'r an . Yu'r stil growing. Onse yu haf liffed efery man's life ðruhute al time, yu wil haf grown enuff to be born."

"So ðe hole alwurld," yu said, "it's but..."

"An egg." I answered. "Nu it's time for yu to on to yure next life."

And I sent yu on yure wey.