Evil Quack

“Ducks are eeeeevil! Don’t feed them! Don’t feed the ducks!”

“Oh, no. Not him again,” Monica moaned as the homeless man in the mud-smeared trench coat and dingy fisherman’s hate ran towards them, waving his arms frantically. “For once, can we have a peaceful day at the park without being harassed by the needy?”

“Lighten up Mo’,” her husband said. “Toss him some bread.”

“So he can wash it down with malt liquor?” She crumbled a slice in her fists and handed a piece of the crust to her three-year-old son.

“Here, ducky,” Robbie said, shuffling his feet towards the flock. “Quack! Quack!”

One duck charged for the boy, flapping its wings. It snatched the crust from Robbie’s hand, biting his thumb in the process.

“Oooouch!” Robbie wailed.

“Eh, eh, eh.” The duck turned away slowly, the bread crust still in it’s beak.

“Eeeeevil!” the homeless man shouted as Monica sat on the bench cradling her injured son and her husband stood, scratching his head, wondering, what the hell kind of quack is that?

word count: 174

—Nortina


Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) using the provided photo prompt as inspiration.

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