Dedicated to Gibby.
He didn't know when it was he gained the gift of thought. He knew for a fact that he hadn't been born with it. It had grown on him. Like hair on your head grows on you or I. Just as you never really notice it until it's long, or in need of cutting again, so it was with Michael. One day he'd simply realised that he was thinking and wondering. But he remembered very clearly the first day he had a conscious thought. He'd been watching a small child playing along the edge of the lake, and he thought how funny it would be if the child were to fall in. Sentience came with a sense of humour, apparently. Michael became frustrated after his initial excitement wore off. He considered his intelligence more of a curse than a blessing. It was wasted; he had nothing to do with it. Surprisingly, there were very little educational opportunities for ducks, no matter how smart. This left him with no other option than to swim around the lake, looking for food, admiring she-ducks and taking the occasional flight. He thought a lot, but there were only so many times you could wonder why there were waves, or why bread crumbs floated, before you became completely dissatisfied with your existence. And so, Michael the duck lived his life in a state of intense boredom. He eventually married, but even this failed to lift his spirits when he realised his wife was totally devoid of any intelligent conversation. Nor did his marriage do anything to alleviate his sense of loneliness. Feeling the need to talk, and having a sentient mind but nobody to share it with was awful. She was nice to look at though. Michael died at the duck-age of fifty-four. The local avian vet put the cause of death down to asphyxiation.
Michael had often wondered, before his untimely demise, whether he could have been doing more with his life.
~ J.L.
THIS IS AMAZING! (:
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