A Little Known Fact About Ducks

Heaven's Greatest Deity

God sighed.

"It was Death. He wants to go out in the field; scythe, horse, the whole works," God hung his head. "And I had such high hopes for that one."

-o-

Death flicked another piece of bread at the duck patiently waiting at his feet. He stared out into the pond fixing on and plastic milk carton that bobbed on the shallow waves causing the congealed contents to slop around inside; much like how his own inside were feeling, or would have if he had any insides to slop. His focus moved back to the duck wondering, not for the first time, why it was that of all the wonderous animal and insect species on the planet it was only the humble duck that could see the undead. He stopped flicking the bread, turning to the figure sitting next to him on the grass, slowly pointing at the duck. Before he could speak his companion cut in.

"I dunno," he said, his deep reverberating voice much the same as Death's but with just a hint of an accent. "You were going to ask about the duck, weren't you?"

Death just turned back to the mallard which had started quacking loudly, anxious for more of the crusty loaf, and flicked another piece at the bird.

"What do I do now, Toby?" Death asked.

"You're asking the wrong person, mate," Toby answered. He was dressed in cheap velour suit which hung on his emaciated frame like a smack head at a wedding. On his head an obvious wig sat at a jonty angle, the hair falling down over the deep set eye sockets obscuring his view.

"Sacked, bloody sacked, and for what?" Death gesticulated at his friend. "Showing some bloody initiative, that's what? I've got a good mind to take the arsehole to an industrial tribunal."

A clap of thunder reminded Death that when in the mortal realm God was always listening and didn't take kindly to former employees calling him an arsehole. But what did it matter, what more could he do to him. Stripped of his robes, cast out from heaven, drained of his power, he was now nothing more than an animated skeleton; good for nothing except maybe Ghost Train carnival rides or a Biology class study tool.

"Mate, it's not worth getting worked up about. Everyone gets the boot from the big man sooner or later. I mean, didn't you ever wonder what happened to the death that came before you?" Toby said.

"It never crossed my mind once; until I met you," Death said.

Toby shook his head, the wig seeming to stay stationary as he did so. "Yup, them were the days. You know the Black Death was me, my idea, but did he give me any thanks, did he hell. I was a great Death, the best of the best he called me. That was until I had my nervous breakdown and the dick turfed me out the door."

There was another clap of thunder.

Toby stretched a boney middle finger up to the sky. "Oooo, do your worst big man, I've nothing to lose."

"What did I do though, I was a model employee, not a foot wrong in over 200 years of service. I just don't understand," Death said, hanging his head.

Toby started chuckling. "It's simple, you rocked the boat. God makes the decisions, God tells you how it's going to work, not the other way around. You demonstrated free will and that, my friend, was your downfall."

Toby got to his feet, motioning Death to follow. "See that fellow over there," he pointed to the other side of the park where a tall skeletal figure stood shouting at a tree. "That's Eddie, or Edwardo Constantine III as he likes to be called. He was Death before me and do you know his crime." Death shook his head. "He put his robe in with a white wash, just so happened God's favourite was in the machine to."

"No," Death exclaimed.

"No, of course not, you fool. You really are quite gullible, Geoff. No, he's stark raving mad that one. Cracked under the pressure of the job. No subcontractors back then, you see. That's why they were brought in, God didn't want any more of us going insane. Raisin?" Toby offer Death a dirty crumpled paper bag.

Death peered inside. "Aren't they rabbit droppings, Toby?" he enquired.

Toby looked at him blankly, not that a skull could have any other expression and tilted the bag up to his mouth. The droppings spilled into the his slack jaw, falling through the gap. Many bounced on his sternum and down the front of his crumpled shirt. Most though, rattled through Toby's ribcage, eventually finding their way in to his trouser legs, rolling out the bottom on to the grass.

"You're quite mad, aren't you?" Death commented.

"I have my moments," he replied. "It's what happens in our line of work, Geoff. It gets to us all in the end. God just saw a opportunity to get you out before it broke you completely, he was actually trying to do you a favour."

Death stared out over the pond at Edwardo Constantine III who was now chasing a squirrel around the base of the tree screaming something about nuts and realised something; God had given him a second chance. Far from being the arsehole Death initially thought, God was actually looking out for him.

Invigorated, Death started walking. An idea bouncing around his hollow skull. There was no way he was going to end up like his predecessors; sitting in a grubby park, shouting at foliage and eating bunny shit. He had much more to give and an eternity to give it, this couldn't be all that was left.

"Where you off to?" Toby shouted.

"I have work to do, Toby. If God wants hired help, I can't think of anyone better qualified than an ex-Death to do the job, can you?"

"Good luck," Toby called after him.

All Death had to do now was get back into heaven and according to some, all he would need as a bribe was a six pack of Special Brew.

"Come on Duck, to the Off License," Death said, striding off towards the shops.

The Duck frowned, looking at Toby picking rabbit excrement from his teeth, then the murky pond with it's floating detritus and eventually back at the lanky figure of Death marching confidently into the distance. Shrugging, he waddled after Heaven's Greatest Deity.