• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 05
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When A Duck Sells His Soul To The Devil

When I asked for eternal life, my days were numbered. The eggs I laid were soft and dark, crumbling when they touched the dried mud banks along the pond. Had I been aware that my reincarnation would be in rubber form, I may have reconsidered my decision. But I can’t really complain. One should expect these things when they make a deal with the devil.

Some days I will wake up (or just come to awareness, I suppose, since lifeless ducks don’t sleep) to see my owner has put me in a new little outfit. Once, it was a purple-feathered boa acquired from a flea market. Another time, a sailor uniform, the kind Donald Duck wore in the cartoons. These days he’s into wigs.

In the beginning I would angrily quack at him, fiercely trying to communicate that I have dignity, regardless of my current body. But it was useless. The only sound I can make is this ridiculous high-pitched shriek when my side is squeezed.

Still, I have come to enjoy the oddities of this new world: the domestic sounds of a washer and dryer inside my owner’s home, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the way it feels to be carried around without moving my legs. Sometimes I even like the strange costumes.

The best days are when we drive to the pond. We sit along the banks and I pretend to close my eyes, imagine myself swimming around with the rest of the ducks. At first they look at my artificial body with contempt. Fake fowl, they call me. But once they see me paddling like the rest of them the prejudice fades away. The day comes to a close and I am invited to their home within the reeds. I think about it, then kindly decline. I have a new life, I tell them.