QUACK

Ashli Giles

Fingers pressed together, now touch the thumb. Open and close, open and close. Push them together – no, not like that, like this. That’s it. Feel the burn.
       Now add a ball. Crush it. Do not let it see the light of day again. Demolish it. Destroy it. Do you feel it? Good. Keep going.
       If I squint my eyes, it looks like a duck. Quack, with a slice of pain. Quack, quack, quack.
       You see those people looking at you? Keep going. They can’t judge what they don’t understand: nobody trusts their eyes anymore these days. For all they know, you could be practicing for a sock puppet show, or –
       A duck, brandishing its scar like a trophy. He’s been wing-deep in the trenches, fighting off the rebels with its strong beak and vicious roar. He slips on its armour which slightly restricts his movements, but he goes for the kill anyway. See him cut down anyone who stands in his way. He will go down a legend, known as the duck with the scar running down its neck. Peace is not an option: it will succeed in its fight or die trying.
       Anything is better than telling them the plain, boring truth. Now, on to the next move.