Confessions (Of Fowl Play)

I have a confession. Actually, a few:

Every time I drive through a yellow light, I kiss my hand and smack the roof of my car. I don’t know when I started doing it, and at this point, I’m afraid to stop.

No meal is complete without dessert. I don’t care how full I am. There’s always room for something sweet.

Whenever I cook, I give my fiancé the nicest pieces. The best-looking chicken, the prettiest slice, the one that turned out just right. I don’t think he even knows I do it.

I am completely obsessed with my baby’s feet. They’re ridiculously cute, and I have absolutely no intention of being normal about them.

I harbor a deep, irrational hatred of crickets. Shortly after we started dating, my fiancé witnessed me beating a bush with a broom outside my bedroom window in the middle of the night. I wanted every cricket in it dead. I still do.

I turned the CatDog theme song into Black Dog for my Labrador. I also sang along with Ludacris in my car today.

I will spend twenty-five dollars getting my daughter four dollars’ worth of gummy bears because telling my children no is apparently beyond my capabilities.

SpongeBob is my hero.

When I need some guidance, I choose a random book, think about my problem, and open to a page. Somehow, it usually helps.

And sometimes, something as ordinary as drinking a Coke makes me miss my mom.

Fowl Play

Percival had never considered himself a jealous bird. Jealousy was for creatures with something to envy, and Percival possessed a tail of such extraordinary beauty that visitors regularly stopped eating sandwiches to applaud it.

Then came the duck.

He was short, brown, and built like a loaf of bread. His name was Gerald. He had no tail worth mentioning, no dignified stride, and a voice like a bicycle horn. Yet every afternoon, the lovely peahen across the pond abandoned Percival’s displays to sit beside him.

Percival tried everything. He fanned his feathers. He danced. He positioned himself beneath the sunlight so that his plumage shimmered like a royal treasury.

Gerald offered her a worm.

She laughed.

That settled it.

Percival spent three nights planning the murder. Poison seemed vulgar. Drowning lacked imagination, especially given Gerald’s irritating proficiency in water. A staged accident, however, would preserve everyone’s dignity. Particularly Percival’s.

On Thursday, he approached Gerald with an invitation.

“There’s a remarkable supply of breadcrumbs beyond the old greenhouse,” he said. “Enough to feed a duck of your considerable appetite.”

Gerald followed without suspicion, chatting about pondweed and the weather. Percival endured this until they reached the gardener’s abandoned wheelbarrow, perched at the top of a steep gravel slope.

“Look inside,” Percival instructed.

Gerald leaned over the rim.

Percival shoved.

The wheelbarrow rattled downhill, struck the stone fountain, and overturned with a terrible metallic crash.

Silence.

Percival inspected the wreckage, straightened a displaced feather, and returned to the pond.

He had even practiced a sympathetic expression for the funeral, although sorrow was difficult to convey with a face naturally designed for superiority.

He found his beloved beneath the willow tree. She was not crying. In fact, she was smiling rather broadly at a large white goose standing beside her.

“Percival!” she called. “Have you met Bernard? He’s been telling me the funniest stories.”

Bernard honked.

She giggled.

Percival stared at the goose’s enormous feet, graceless neck, and expression of uncomplicated contentment.

He considered the trouble he’d gone to. The planning. The wheelbarrow. The indignity of getting gravel on his feathers.

Then Bernard offered her a worm.

Percival closed his eyes.

There would have to be another accident.

This piece was written for Paul’s Super Fun Multi-Part Unofficial Challenge, Part One, which challenges writers to share 245 words about themselves and follow them with a 365-word story about a peacock. An unusual combination, but an entertaining one! Thanks for the creative challenge, Paul!