the cygnet

141 01 January 31st 2016

 

The tiniest of the ducklings paddled her little webbed feet as fast as she could. Femelle dabbled just a few lengths ahead. “Maman,” gasped the little duckling with tears in her voice, “….drake said I’m going to be an ugly thing when I grow up!”

“Which drake, dear?” “Sheldrake?” “No.” “Mandrake?” “No,” replied littlest duckling, shaking her head. “Pauldrake?” “No.” Femelle stopped for a moment to count down her drakes. “Then, Francesdrake?” “No, no!” “Well,” said Femelle, that leaves Drakedrake.” “Yes!”

“What ugly thing did he say you’d become?” “Oh, Maman. Something awful and hideous. All big and fat with a long neck. And all-white feathers. And sound like a horn or nothing at all. And, I’d be all agrossive and arrogrunt.”

“I think he meant aggressive and arrogant. But, there’s no need to worry, ma petite. There hasn’t been a swan in the family in hundreds of years. Not since we migrated from Strafford-on-Avon. Big brothers like to tease little sisters. Now, you go tell him he will have a weird, spittally voice, be temperamental, wear a sailor suit and be all white with big orange feet.”

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction, 30 January 2016. (word count: 188)

Three prompts produced the same initial reaction: ugly duckling: Sunday Photo Fiction; Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Collage 16;  Just Jot It January. January 31: clumsy

© a darkened house 2016

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10 thoughts on “the cygnet

the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things . . .

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