“You must rock them or they’ll never hatch.”

Emilio sighed. His arms ached. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he’d traded a cushy private school spot for an ATM position.

Early mornings, late-night assignments, mediocre food, bedbugs. A ton of work, literally. Zero glamor.

He’d quit but this would give his parents the last laugh.

“Apprentice-To-Magi?” they’d chortled when he told them he’d signed on. “Muddy misery and miserly masters. You wouldn’t last a week!”

He grit his teeth, planted his feet, and rocked, singing under his breath, as he’d been instructed: “Rock-a-bye-rocks, in a crib box …”

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo by the lovely Dale Rogerson