“Lucy! Lucy, where are you?”
I saunter through the hallway of my house, glancing into each room as I pass by.
My converse squeak against the honeyed timber boards, their all star symbols peaking out from the inner sides of my shoes.
Photos stuck to the walls smile down at me.
The light spring breeze winds around my arms like the long gloves that ladies wear in old movies.
The sun glows shyly outside, lighting up the windows.
“Where are you, Lucy Duck?”
I call, poised for a grunt or a rumbling squawk.
Most people in my class at school have dogs or cats or little yellow canaries that can speak.
But not me.
I have Lucy.
Lucy is a duck.
A duck whom I can’t find at the moment.
I think back to the events of the day.
Ian, my little brother, had gotten annoyed at Lucy’s duck-ish sounds that she makes when she’s happy.
She loves spring weather- it makes her excitable.
Ian had gotten fired up and started rambling threats of eating Lucy one day.
Fancy eating someone as cute as Lucy!
I turn right sharply and go into my room.
I smack down onto my bed.
A thick layer of blankets and pillows envelope me.
Ian us being far more quiet than normal, and Lucy is nowhere to be found.
Mum and dad are out for lunch with their friends.
It’s oddly quiet.
Well, apart from the some slight sounds of drawers opening and shutting and spoons clanking from the kitchen.
The noises are coming from the kitchen.
I think back to what Ian had said earlier.
“I’ll eat that blasted duck one day! Just you see!”
A thought starts to form in my head.
It fits together, makes perfect sense.
Which is a bad thing.
I shout and jump up.
I skid out of my room, banging my side on the doorframe.
My heart thuds violently, threatening to to escape from my chest.
My shoes scream against the floorboards as I whirl around a corner and stand upright but panting in the door of the kitchen.
My eyes are thunderous, peering around the room excpectantly.
Ian is standing in front of the oven with heat mittens on, looking stunned.
A guilty tinge marks his face, hiding from underneath an “all good” expression.
He says, happily enough.
I look around frantically before my gaze settles on Ian.
He leans slightly against the closed oven door.
“What are you doing?”
His smile falters slightly.
“Nothing really, just cooking lunch.”