Yet.
Rating: R, for language
Word Count: 1035
Notes: No pairing, no porn, just silliness. I was ridiculously exhausted when I wrote this, and it definitely shows, so there's probably grammar errors and comma explosions all over the place. Please forgive me.
This story began on a dark and stormy night. It was mid-August, heading into hurricane season, and this one was going to be a doozy.
No, actually, it didn’t start there.
It began on a warm, sunny day, in the beginning of Spring. Flowers were blooming, birds were chirping...
No, no, that’s not right either.
This story began with a duck. This duck, who we will call Fred, for ease, was a mean duck. He was an incredibly beautiful mallard, by anyone’s standards, but he was horribly mean.
Fred had taught himself how to talk.
Just being able to talk didn’t mean that Fred was very smart, however.
But, not only had Fred taught himself how to talk, but he was knowledgeable about internet memes. One day, Fred wasn’t happy swimming around the pond with all his duck friends and eating plants, so he went exploring.
He found some teenagers who were Rick Rolling each other, while they sat across from each other with their laptops, enjoying the nice spring day. Walking up to their picnic table, he quacked, no, he spoke to them.
“THE GAME,” Fred quack-spoke.
All four of the teenage boys looked down at Fred in horror, and cursed up a blue streak.
“THE GAME,” Fred quack-spoke again, while staring dead at them.
“Fuck this piece of shit duck,” one of the boys yelled. This boy was also named Fred, but his friends called him Fatty, despite him being as thin as a rail. Or possibly because of it, no one was really sure anymore. Fatty chased after Fred the duck, who kept quack-speaking “THE GAME” at him while flapping his wings and running in circles.
“Fuck this fucking dumbass duck,” a different boy yelled. This boy was named Quincy, but no one called him Quincy, because it’s a horrible name, so his friends called him Dumbass, since that’s the one word he said that most. He also happened to not be the brightest bulb on the tree, making it doubly fit. (No offense meant if your name happens to be Quincy, but it really isn’t the best name in the book.) Dumbass started throwing pine cones at Fred, who dodged them as deftly as someone with stubby legs and webbed feet ever could, which is to say not very well at all. Every time he was hit, he would quack louder, making the boys angrier.
“I TOLD YOU THERE WERE DUCKS AROUND HERE,” a third boy screeched as he climbed on top of the table. Except that this boy wasn’t really a boy, she was a girl, named Pruscilla. Except that she had to be a boy, because there’s no girls on the internet. And since she really had to be a boy, her friends just called her Guy, thus obviously making her a dude.
“D-don’t worry about it, Guy. Of course you were right,” the fourth boy mumbled, trying to awkwardly pat Guy’s hand, and missed, hitting the picnic table and getting a palm-ful of splinters for his trouble. No one ever remembered his name (it was Justin), so they called him “Hey you”, except for Guy, who would make up a new name for him weekly. This week, her name for him was Jared. (She happened to be on a 30 Seconds to Mars kick, and it was the first thing that came to mind.) He was used to this by now, and was just glad that the rest of them remembered him at all.
Fred (the duck, not Fatty) waddled back over, and flew up onto the picnic table with Guy. “THE GAME”, he quacked at her. She sat there for a moment, trembling, and then screamed as she jumped back off the table and onto the bench part. She tried to curl up into a ball as well as she could, but having long legs didn’t help her a whole lot in this case, so she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, and pulled the strings as tight as they could go, so that only her nose was poking out.
Fatty and Dumbass were still attempting to chase Fred away, not because of Guy’s obvious fear, but because he kept making them lose the Game. This enraged the boys more than anything ever could, because they’d been winning for a whole month this time, before this horrible duck showed up and ruined all their fun. Jared tried to console Guy, who sat and trembled like a leaf in the breeze, but to no avail. She’d gone to her happy place (which coincidentally happened to be full of palm trees and David Bowie in his Jareth costume and makeup. Though, it wouldn’t be much of a coincidence, since David Bowie hasn’t been mentioned, would it? Then again, David Bowie is always relevant.), and refused to come out, no matter how many times Jared told her that it would be okay, that Fatty and Dumbass would get rid of the evil duck, and that the duck wouldn’t hurt her.
Fatty eventually gave up, out of breath. Slinging himself back onto the bench, he flopped forward, onto the table and pillowed his head on his arms. “Fuck. That. Duck.”
“I’m gonna get my dumbass mom to make a dumbass dinner out of this dumbass duck,” Dumbass crowed, still chasing Fred around the table.
“THE GAME,” Fred quacked defiantly. He ran as fast as his stubby legs would carry him, eventually resorting to running underneath the table, in an attempt to thwart his (idiotic) hunter.
Eventually, Dumbass gave up too, and Fred went and flew over to the picnic table diagonal from the one the four of them had convened at. Proudly preening his wings, he would softly quack to himself as he worked.
“I hate this duck more than I hate any other duck ever,” Guy whispered, still trembling, but slowly getting shoved out of her happy place by David Bowie/Jareth’s codpiece.
They all packed up their things, and headed their separate ways, except with Jared on Guy’s heels, wanting to make sure that she got home alright.
Meanwhile, Fred the duck sat around, looking for crusts of almost-moldy bread.