A Duck's Life

A Duck’s Tale: Chapter 2

Chapter 1 available here.

—-

 Feathers.

Lights skimming, seen only through closed eyelids, like sunlight on a bright Summer morning.

Shrieks in a tongue that I did not understand.

And then… burning. A pain as bright as the sun, at the top of my spine, just where my hair line ended.

My consciousness coalesced from the void, an array of bubbles rising through a black lake, slowly ebbing their way to the shimmering lights above the surface.

“What… what… have you done to me?”

My eyes had not yet opened fully. The room, if it was a room, appeared to be dimly lit. I was lost in a kaleidoscope.

“It was easier this way, and you have my most sincere apologies for the pain.” The voice was male, calming and self-assured. I had no idea who he was.

“Where am I?”

“In the mansions still. Underground. We have been busy.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

The kaleidoscope began to come into focus. I could see silhouettes only, dancing ghosts in the room around me. The voice’s owner began to pace around the room.

“The ducks… they are unhappy. There may well be violence on the way. Rules have been broken. The criminals must be punished.”

“But… who are you? Just please tell me, what is going on?”

“You know me. You have written a great deal about me.”

“I honestly have never heard your voice before. I can’t focus my eyes yet, so can’t see you.”

“My mistake. Then it is my honour to speak to you personally for the first time. I am Alfred.”

“I must still be drugged, “ I replied. “I know that I can’t talk to Alfred the Duck. So you can’t be him. You know why? Because he’s a duck, that’s why. And humans and ducks aren’t exactly renowned for their abilities to converse with one another. Now, quit messing me around and tell me who you are!”

Despite the bleary eyes and foggy mind, my anger was rising.

“Ah,” said the Alfred Pretender. “But have you never wondered why my assistants and attendants could relay messages between you and me? And why they could translate for me?”

“Honestly,” I replied, “it’s clearly an act. Alfred the Duck is just a brand for selling books, CDs and music. Oh, and toy Alfreds. The Alfred the Duck whom I have apparently interviewed in the past could have died and been eaten in some Chinese restaurant for all I know. He or she could have been replaced with some other duck and it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference. It’s not like I can tell two ducks apart. I followed the Alfred character as it was such an interesting meme, you know, a duck, making out like it’s a rock star. It was just a bit of fun. People can’t talk to ducks.”

“Yes they can, and you’re doing it now. I’m the original Alfred. It’s always been me.”

“Bullshit. Let me out of here. I want the police here. Now.”

“Please, you must understand me, just wait until your head clears. The operation is always quite a shock…”

“Operation! What the hell have you done to me?” I began to stand, still whirling around in a room of shadows and borderless silhouettes. The burning sensation at the top of my spine grew in intensity. I swear I could smell my own boiling flesh.

“It was necessary…an implant…” the voice was flustered, afraid, “…to help you understand me. You who have reached out to me when the media despised me. You – who followed me and wanted to write a true story…”

I began to stumble forward, towards what I thought was a door. I kicked into some equipment on the floor on my journey. “I didn’t reach out to you, it was all an act. A joke! My editor told me to take the angle of pretending the Alfred the Duck character was real. I’ve always had a flair for the creative. That, plus a natural affinity for parody. It was the perfect mix. Don’t mess me about by pretending that whatever sick game this is actually involves me talking to a duck! I mean, for crying out loud. You’ve gone too far. Let me go.”

“..but please, if you just…” his voice was strained.

“Let me go. Get me out of this building.”

“…just five minutes…”

I pushed by a figure nearby. The figure did not resist me. “Let me go. Get me out!!”

The Alfred Pretender begged with me all the way to the gates of the mansions. I limped into my car and just drove, still in a haze of poor vision, which had recovered just enough for me to drive a safe distance away, reaching a nearby park. I half-crashed my car into a fence surrounding the park, stopped the car, and just sat.

And waited.

And thought.