Hello, dear readers!
I have a rare treat for you today! It's Story Time!
One day, I was just standing in the park, enjoying the fresh air, the wind through the trees, the shrieks of children as they pushed each other into the pond and were promptly attacked by angry swans. I sigh, feeling blissfully happy, despite the screams of the children as they're being pecked and buffeted by the great wings of swans.
"Help!" They scream."Mister! We're being attacked by a huge bird!"
I scoff. "That's not a huge bird!" I say.
I start to walk away, to go back home. The peace of the park no longer entertains me. That was when I heard it, a strange squawking sound, quite unlike the hisses and honks of the swans. I peer over my shoulder, and see no one there.
As I walk past a tree, I feel something tap me on the shoulder. I freeze and slowly turn my head, only to come face to face with a fuzzy head and orange beak. The ostrich stares at me a moment. I stare back. I have no idea what I should do. No one tells you what to do in case of an ostrich attack.
Do I make myself bigger, scream and shout? Or smaller, playing dead and holding my breath until he goes away? Or do I simply climb a tree or run for my life screaming like a little girl? All this runs through my head as the ostrich and I continue our staring contest. Then, it makes a move. It lets out the squawking sound.
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| Me and the Ostrich as it squawks. |
I am petrified! Now what? I decide to go with my instincts. I do as a coward would and run, screaming at the top of my voice. Sadly, my scream is more shrill than Justin Beiber's singing voice. It shames me to no end. So I stop, saving my breath for running.
I continue to run, until I see my sanctuary ahead. A concrete duck-pond. Everyone knows about these things. No ducks ever go to them because they are too small and there's no food in them. They're insanely deep and no flightless bird who can't swim in his right mind would dare to go into one.So I know what I must do.
Snapping on my swim goggles and my safety helmet, I charge the duck-pond. As I draw nearer, I leap into the air, more graceful than a ballerina performing on opening night, and dive into the duck pond.
The water is freezing cold, but I swim down, down,down, on and on until I touch the bottom. I turn around and start for the surface. As I break through the water, I look back in the direction I had come and realize, there is no ostrich. Instead, standing next to the tree is an old man with a long nose and a beard, coughing into a handkerchief.
I sigh and move to the edge of the duck pond, and grasp the edge, pulling myself out. I think I need to go home and take a nap. Or admit myself to the insane asylum.
