Flash Fiction| Magic realism
A Quacking Start to the Day
“You got any bread?” asks the duck. The man spins around. The pond motionless, tall grass standing still. A red helmeted cycler 20 yards down the path. The short, balding man in his black tracksuit stares down at the duck. A moment passes, I laugh to myself. “Was that you, little one?”
“Are you laughing at me? Don’t you have any bread?” the duck replies. Its mouth opened. What? I must be losing it. I did not eat before coming out this morning. When I get in, I will eat some food, the bacon in the fridge. That would be good. “I’ll be off. Little one, sorry for troubling you this morning,” I say as I resume my jogging.
“Where are you going?” asks the duck. I stop and look back at the pursuing duck. My sight lingers for only a second before I start sprinting away. It’s following me. I must be delirious. Passing by the green benches on the path towards the exits. If I cross over the flower beds, I could jump the wall. I look back. “Hey, I want some bread. You got any food?” asks the duck. It is gaining am I getting slower? I must go across the flowers. I hope Mrs Magrath can forgive me. The first step of the path, the first steps straight onto loose earth. I can see why this may have been a mistake.
“Are you okay? Is there food down there?” asks the duck. My head lays face down on the flower bed. The beautiful yellows, oranges and pinks carefully arranged to comfort my fall. That ducks on my head. If I pretended to be dead, will it leave me alone. Why am I being stupid? I am five times bigger than it. I could easily swat it away.
“Can you get off?” I ask.
“Sure, no problem,” it replies.
“Did you find any food down there?” the duck asks. I reposition off my belly onto my knees then my bum. Cross-legged I look at the duck. A mallard? It is thin. “If I get you some food, you’ll leave me alone?”
“Yes, I promise,” the duck replies.
I stand up and start heading back to the apartment. Hopefully, Monica will be asleep still. I leave this early so I can get back to cook breakfast and eat together. I am not crazy; this duck is following me. It is talking and following me. “Where’d you learn to talk?” I ask.
“What’s talking?” it replies
“You know, what we’re doing right now.”
“Talking is getting food?”
“Talking is hard to explain to a duck,” I reply after a short pause. From outside the park, the apartment is across the road. The street is quiet, people aren’t up yet. The outside door doesn’t lock properly. I need to kick it in the right place. The hallway stinks because of the two young men in flat 2. They drink and smoke all night, most weekends. “This way little duck, just round the corner we can get you fed.” Its pace quickens.
“Where’s the food?” asks the duck. I point at my door and take out my keys. Careful to be as quiet as I can be. The door opens to show the beige apartment lightly decorated with plants and modern art. A small collection from an up-and-coming artist who specialises in cubism. “Now, make sure that you stay silent. I’ll get you some bread?”
“Yeah, bread!” says the duck. I take a piece of seeded brown bread out of a small wooden chest. Crumbling the bread, I drop it onto the brick-coloured tiles. “That okay, little duck?”
“Excellent!” the duck declares.
“What the fuck is that?” Monica yells. In her blue moon pyjamas. Her hair tied into a loose top bun. “It’s a duck. It talks. It kept asking for bread.” I reply.
“Get it out of the house!”
“Little duck, could you take it outside? I’ve got a little balcony,” I ask. The duck wanders towards the glass. I slide the window door open. “Honey, what was that? You just quacked.” I do not know what to say. I assumed the duck was the special one. I did not even hear myself quack. I do not even speak two languages. I talk to ducks? “I’m not sure. I was jogging, heard it asking for bread.” She takes a seat, “You went jogging?”. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he replies, fiddling with the zip on his tracksuit.
“You don’t have to sneak off in the morning to work out,” she says.
“I didn’t want to wake you, that’s all. It wasn’t meant to be a secret.”
“If you’d have me, I’d like to start running with you. It would be an effective way to get in shape. We could support each other,” she says while walking over to him.
“That would be lovely,” he replies.
We hug in the kitchen holding each other tightly. She pulls back, “You want to keep the duck, don’t you?” I head over to the balcony door, the park coming to life over the road. “He feels like a close friend after this morning. I don’t imagine he’s high maintenance.”
“Alright, but you’re taking it for walks!”
“You can come in and join us for some real breakfast if you’d like?” I quack.
The duck is nowhere to be seen, looks like he kept his promise after all.
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