i would really like to write something everyday, this means it often won’t make sense . . . enjoy . . .
There were seven ducks across the road.
Roger knew this to be fact because it had taken such an awfully long time for the bus to show up and his position in the shelter had provided the perfect view of these seven ducks that had lined up neatly in front of the hedge.
Suddenly it seemed like not only was the bus tardy, but the road had been rather clear of all vehicles for several minutes.
Suddenly it felt like a cliché, rewritten by a surrealist, as any second now it would make perfect sense if the scene should explode into violence – flames and feathers flying everywhere.
But – Surely that was nonsense.
Roger checked his watch, cocking his head at it as recognition dawned; the watch had stopped, two minutes before the bus was scheduled to arrive.
Roger found himself counting down the seconds in the back of his mind, instinctively working to fit a structure around these moments even as he wondered why he was so concerned about the seven ducks across the street.
The seconds slipped through his counting mind with a stubborn swiftness as Roger struggled with the fact that he was frightened by ducks and a quiet, empty street.
Then one of the drakes moved, and the rest followed, pouring off the opposite curb, making their odd sounds with their bobbing heads and their black eyes, they marched into the street.
Roger was on his feet in an instant, suddenly emboldened by his chance to prove himself heroic.
The final seconds of two minutes marched through his head as the brakes of the bus shattered his reverie as it jerked to a stop, on time, in the street beside him.
The bus-driver stared at Roger, while Roger stared at the ducks.
The ducks seemed to stare back at Roger as they passed and disappeared into the undergrowth behind the bus shelter, merrily quacking as the bus-driver applied his horn and began to shout.
- finite
January 29th, 2009 at 7:52 am
This reminds me of your deer story…I like it!