As usual when something kicks off big time, a large crowd soon gathered, gawping and even taking photos.
The protagonists were two sets of parents.
The alphas, let's call them Gnasher and Slasher, had 5 tiny babies.
Their opponents, we'll call them Distraught and Bereaved (you can see where this is going, can't you?) had yet to bring their young into the world.
The aggression and the sheer level of violence was shocking, even to those brought up in the urban heartlands.
Each had their feet on their opposite number's shoulders and was attempting to throw them and hold them under the surface of the lake.
They raked each other's chests, shrieking wordlessly.
The end result was as sad as it was inevitable.
Distraught and Bereaved could do nothing but watch in despair as Gnasher and Slasher rolled their precious unborn from the nest and proceeded to feed them to their own babies.
Sometimes I'm really glad I'm not a coot.
7 comments:
Ah man! I think I might need therapy to get that image out my head. Oooohhh...
Thought you might like this poem. Important to read it to the end. Life. How do we survive it?
Joan
The One About the Duck
This duck walked into a pub
and went straight up to the bar.
The barman made a joke about
not serving ducks under eighteen
and tried to shoo it out.
But the duck would not be shoon.
It waddled around to the back bar
quacking as it were last orders
to the few remaining customers
in The Sun that afternoon.
The barman fetched the barmaid
who tried to show the duck the door.
But the duck would not be shown.
So the barman fetched the manager,
but the three of them had no luck.
Seeking guidance from above, the manager
brought down the landlord and his wife,
and all five, armed with tea towels,
cornered the duck between the Ladies
and the fruit machine and overpowered it.
They were gentle, they were kind,
and their concern was for the welfare
of the web footed intruder, the green –headed
alien away from his loved ones
and longing for home, Quack Quack.
So the landlord, followed by the landlady,
the manager, the barman and the barmaid
carried the duck, swaddled in tea towels,
across the High Street to the pond
that lies in the middle of the green.
‘There you go, Donald, you naughty duck,’
said the landlord setting it free.
And his staff were pleased with their good deed,
And so, totally unprepared for the commotion
that followed. The sudden violence and murder.
Angels at four o’ clock. While two fastened
on to its bill, keeping it closed, the others
pecked and stabbed, turned it over
and dragged it under. Helpless, the rescuers
watched it drown in a bullseye of bubbles.
Stunned, they returned to the Sun
and tried to make sense of it all.
Synchronised drowning, bloodlust or justice?
Heads down, tails up, dabbling free.
Have you heard the one about the duck? No joke.
R McGough
Red in tooth and claw, eh?
Lucky we humans are not so insanely territorial ... (ahem)
Debi! MAKE THEM STOP!
'Bustard'
'F****** coot'
( I blame the parents )
i happened here by mistake, but i had to leave a comment to this story! you write amazingly!! LOL!!
Cris
http://mrsbizzybodysworld.blogspot.com/
Hi and welcome, Cris. Thanks for the kind words.
Great to see a post still gets the occasional comment 11 months after it's been published.
Post a Comment