Slow-Poke Duckling's Arc

Chapter 5 of 9

Slow-Poke set his webbed feet on the line. His belly hung low and warm, full of bacon and berries. Freddy bounced beside him, tapping his orange boots against the dirt. "Ready ready ready," Freddy muttered. "One boot, two boot. Okay. Okay." The flag lifted high above them, bright against the morning sky. The flag dropped. Freddy exploded forward, leaving a swirling trail of pale dust spinning in the air where he had stood. Slow-Poke lurched. His legs pushed, but his middle did not. He took one step. Then another. The full breakfast pinned him to the dirt like a sack of feed. Somewhere behind, a chick laughed. He had filed that laugh away before. He filed it again. Freddy was already halfway to the shed. Slow-Poke watched the white shape shrink. Then Freddy stopped. He turned around. He pattered back through his own dust cloud, counting boots under his breath, and stood beside Slow-Poke in the dirt. "Slow is okay," Freddy said quietly. "I'll walk. I'll walk with you." The crowd went silent. Slow-Poke had lost the start. But he was not, somehow, alone in losing it.