A seemingly routine incident happened in the city in the spring. About 20,000 chicken eggs were taken out of stores as a result of the health inspection.
The majority were judged inappropriate: unclean, cracked, or expired. They all ended up behind a barbed-wire fence at the city landfill.
The egg cartons were emptied by trucks like any other garbage. After a few days, some of the boxes were pecked at by birds, some were lost amid the other trash, and the boxes themselves came apart in the rain.
Almost instantly, the locals forgot about it.
Nevertheless, after three months, an unforeseen event occurred.
The birds weren’t landing on the organic trash pile as frequently as they usually did, and the landfill caretaker observed this early in the morning. He came — and stopped. Inside the rubbish mountain, something was in motion.
Rotten potatoes and empty yogurt cartons were surrounded by thousands of little yellow fluff balls. Tiny, lively, squeaking. Women. They were numerous.
They were found in the crevices of old furniture, beneath plastic bottles, and in between tires. How did they get it through? Without a hen, an incubator, or any other care, how did they hatch?
At an astonishing rate, the news quickly spread throughout the city. Visitors arrived to witness the “miracle.” Scientists couldn’t understand it; it didn’t make sense. Particularly after all this time, there were no circumstances for hatching in the dump.
They were suddenly referred to as “chicks” by the locals.
Some people took the girls home out of sympathy, while others did so out of superstition.
Official agencies were unable to provide an explanation, but it was obvious to city dwellers that these were more than merely girls. Among the rubbish, a miracle was created.