Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Quagmire

The Rage shook his head groggily. He picked himself up from the ground and gazed around the bleak landscape he had found himself in, thoroughly confused. As far as the eye could see in every direction was just mile after mile of flat, sandy coloured mud flat. It was baked hard and cracked from the sun. After scanning the horizon a number of times his gaze was drawn to a small duck, standing behind him.

“Ok, I get it, this is one of those dreams that are supposed to teach me something. You’re some sort of guide.”
The duck tilted its head quizzically.

“Well, I assume you’re not here to talk to me… You looking for Daly?”
The duck sat on the ground.
“Me, then?”
The duck looked around and shook itself.
“Me, then.”
It stood up and began to walk away slowly. The Rage followed. After an indeterminable amount of time it stopped and turned around.

“Quag.”
“What the fuck? What the fuck is ‘Quag’?”
It began to walk away again. The Rage followed, curious this time. After another length of time it stopped.

“Quap.”
“What’s ‘Quap’? What is that? What does it mean?”
The duck began to walk away again at the same pace. The Rage ran in front of it and stopped.

“What’s going on?”
The duck looked up at him.
“You’re not going to say ‘Quack’ are you?”
It didn’t move.
“You’re not a duck, are you? This isn't one of those dreams, is it?”
“No,” it said.

The Rage turned and began to walk away. “Thanks,” he said, glancing back.