(no subject)
Written for shati
Whatever happens, there will always be ducks.
There's really not much reaction. A few people stumbling, red-eyed, to work, perhaps, but this is England. Stiff upper lip, and all. There seem to be an increased number of accidents, for some reason. Petty frustrations, general ill will. And, beside a lake, a man in sunglasses scowling at the water.
A shadow falls over him.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
A sigh. “I know, my dear. Nor mine.”
There’s really nothing more to say. But, whatever happens, there will always be ducks. And someone to feed them with. They take comfort in that.
Whatever happens, there will always be ducks.
There's really not much reaction. A few people stumbling, red-eyed, to work, perhaps, but this is England. Stiff upper lip, and all. There seem to be an increased number of accidents, for some reason. Petty frustrations, general ill will. And, beside a lake, a man in sunglasses scowling at the water.
A shadow falls over him.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
A sigh. “I know, my dear. Nor mine.”
There’s really nothing more to say. But, whatever happens, there will always be ducks. And someone to feed them with. They take comfort in that.