When I was in high school, I was a competitive swimmer. I joined my freshman year, when I was still in junior high. My friend Lindsey also joined, and we became best swimming friends. And real life friends. General best friends all around.
Every day, we would get out of class early. (Practice started at 2:30, and school ended at 3... It wasn't possible to go to class and partake in high school sports... Never mind the fact that our couch said we could come late due to school. No one has to know that little secret.) We would meet at our school commons, and walk to the pool, which was only a couple of blocks away.
Now, our city swimming pool is located at the edge of the city park, which has a pond, which a fuck ton of ducks have built their home in (as well as various hobos). Most of the ducks were friendly. They wouldn't shy away from you as you walked past, but instead would check you out, trying to see if you were carrying a stale loaf of bread to munch on. When they established you weren't, they would go on their way.
Like I said. This was for most of the ducks. Except one. The Elvis duck.
His name fits him. He was fat, and mean, and his feathers stuck up on his head in a way that made him look like he was impersonating Elvis. He had beady little eyes that glared into your soul, searching for bread without even looking at your hands.
This duck was the epitome of evil... One day, as we were walking, this duck went bat-shit-fucking crazy. Out of nowhere, it attacked. Fortunately for me, I was not the target. Lindsey was.
She saw it coming. She immediately started running, and screaming her lungs off. This duck was out for blood, and she knew it. She dropped her bags and ran, while I stood behind, laughing my ass off. Here we are, minding our own business, when out of nowhere, Lindsey gets attacked by Elvis.
I grabbed her bags, and met up with her, where she had managed to shake him off. We looked over our shoulders, and we saw him. He was there.
Watching.
Always watching.
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