David The Duck
It wasn’t the softness of the babies, the sort you could almost feel from a distance, that made her beg Mother to please pull over. It was the little one at the very back of the small line. The way his tiny head hung down low as if he were afraid to look at all the brightness.
Mother duck did not stop. Maybe that’s what made Sam want to. Mother slammed the door loudly enough to spook the dozen or so ducks, all but the last one. He looked too lost to pay attention to the loud humans gaining on him.
She crouched low behind him, just watching but he did not stop, didn’t look at her, his tufty soft head still down. She closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of it, the too early Spring, then looked about at all the too bright flowers. The little baby duck had turned and was staring at her, his eyes shiny black buttons in a pale face.
“Don’t you touch it!” Her mother’s voice held a hard edge, the way she knew would get her in trouble if she’d said anything. But she so badly wanted to touch him. She’d somehow assumed it was a him when she first saw the way he looked down all the time, the reluctance at just going along with everybody. The way her father seemed to. Silent and still on all the days her mother used that voice on him. Until she couldn’t reach him anymore.
David. She’d decided then. She’d call him David, like her father.
And so she did.
img credit pixabay
This is a five minute freewrite thingie started (and generously run by) 
. The prompt for today was Ducks (obviously). Here is a link to that post: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-76-5-minute-freewrite-prompt-ducks
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