Mildred the duck, aka The Mill, was using a Bunsen burner to cook dinner in her earwax nest kitchen. Her mate, Denny, aka Big D, was cutting the grass on a tractor low-riding with a sweatband and dirty sweat sock on. They were deeply in love; she thrived on his thug love, and tolerated his gang playing tag with loaded guns. She was thinking his offer of moving into his beach house, and having ducklings.
His crew waltzed up on the lawn. "Yo boss, and miss lady we gots the goods!" Jamal said as the rests dropped the bags of fish at his feet.
"My homes, let's sell this load to the merchants, and get that dough." Denny said.
"Right, right," the other said three seconds later than the first person.
"To the ship," Jamal said, and the others followed.
"Hey, what about yo new girl?" Maurice asked.
"She a fly sista," Jamal said getting glassy eyed.
"You mean your imaginary girl," Kenny cackled, and Jamal shot him in his stomach. "Yo Jamal, you ain't have to do me like that."
"Get in the boat, and turn on the motor! Y'all actin' a fool!" Denny said.
"Sorry boss," they said off key.
"What 'bout you?" Jamal asked.
"I ain't putting myself in the line of fire, or doin' the hard work. Meet me back at the crib."
"Right, right." The steered away beat-boxing and quacking, and Maurice and Jamal were rapping.
"Baby, when are you gonna let me take care of you?" Big D asked.
"I got a lot going on right now. But soon." She answered. A net fell on both of them, and the quacked for help.
***
A middle-aged woman set two baked ducks on the tabled. "It's time to bless the table, and to give the Lord Almighty thanksgiving." She said.
YOU ARE READING
Flagrant Fragrant by Heron Djenne Canvasback
Short StorySome samples of my short stories and flash fiction. They cover multiple genres. Get ready to cry, laugh, scream, and smile. These stories are PG 13. *This short story collection is completed.*
