I sat on the couch, watching The Amazing World of Gumball, when I heard a faint chirping. I lifted my head and hopped up, black obscuring my vision for a moment, curtesy of getting up too fast.

I ran to the guest room, opening the door. We already had a few chicks hatch, so I knew what to do: nothing. I couldn't do anything, or else the chicks might die. My mother was at work so it was just me and my father. I peered inside the incubator to find something odd.

When chickens hatch, they pip, which makes a hole in the shell so they can breathe. Then they peck around so the top falls off. But with this chick, it was different. Strange. It had pecked an oval. At first I went back to watching my show, excitement bubbling up as I thought about what this chick might look like.

It was the chick of our favorite chicken, Cutie-Bird. Weird name. I know. I made it when I was six.

I couldn't resist getting a second peek. And that's when I got worried. There seemed to be something wrong with its beak.

"Daddy?" I called my father, worry starting to break through my excitement. I heard my dad sigh and get up, walking back to the back living room.

"Yes, Esme?" He asked, and I pointed to the hatching chick.

"Its beak looks wrong."

"It's probably nothing." He shrugged and turned on his heel.

"But-" I begin, but he turns his face and shuts me up with a tiny glare. I sigh and go back to watching the chick.

A few hours later, the chick still hasn't hatched. I can hear its chirps getting weaker. I chirp to it, hoping that the sound will fuel its energy. Chicks chirp to encourage a chick that is hatching, so I have spent a long time perfecting my chirp to sound like a chick. It seems to work, but it still seems weak. And its beak... I can't get over it.

I text my mom, getting more worried by the second.

'Mommy, the chick still hasn't hatched. Are you almost home?'

'Yes.'

'Okay. I'm worried.'

'I know, I'm coming.'

I sighed, falling back on the couch. I peered into the incubator again to find a small green eye gazing up at me desperately from the oval-zipped egg. I chirped again, and I heard it give an unusual, twisted chirp in reply. I sighed again.

My mom got home about 15 minutes later and came to look into the incubator with me.

"I think we need to cut it open.." she looked at me.

"Won't it kill it?" I asked. It might seem rude that I'm calling the chick and 'it', but you don't know if it's a hen or rooster until they're much older.

"I hope not." She sighed. She took a deep breath and opened the incubator, quickly taking the egg out. She grabbed some scissors and chipped away the shell.

I closed my eyes tightly as the chick screeched as my mom accidentally hit a nerve. About fifteen minutes of careful cutting, trying not to cut a nerve, my mom was holding a small black chick with a crossed beak.