Waterlogged

The bog was all he ever knew.

His entire universe had been wet for as far as he could remember.

The soggy marsh was all there was, it filled his world and will carry on doing so for the foreseeable future, or so it seemed.

He woke up drenched in the cold grey morning, like every day. The eternal mist was surrounding him and a drizzling rain was washing away the very little colours, mostly greens and browns, that the landscape had managed to retain. Like every day...

He tried to shake off some of the water but gave up after a few minutes. He was as dry as he would ever be. It was such a foreign concept anyway.

He briefly reviewed the previous night events. He had heard her again. This time, she sounded closer than before, but it was hard to tell. In the fog, the sound was muffled and seemed to come from everywhere at once... and that waterlogged waste was so vast. Maybe one day...

He put those thoughts aside and went fishing.

He had been troubled lately. He had had strange urges to just take off, to go. To leave everything behind and try to find a better place. He had an unfamiliar longing for something he never experienced, warmth.

If only he wasn't alone.

He was absent-mindedly swallowing his catch raw, brooding, when he heard it.

An almost imperceptible crack. A rustle in the long grass. It was close.

And suddenly, the call.

It filled the air. It was her! She had found him!

His heart beat faster. He moved towards the noise.

Something inside him was desperately tugging at his brain, shouting that something was amiss, when another noise finally broke through his enthusiast confusion. Dogs!

Instinctively he took flight.

He barely heard the thunder like crack of the gun. He was plummeting towards the ground. With the last of his consciousness, he observed the dark waters closing over him, and then, all went cold.

He never felt the jaws seizing his neck.

Tough luck for a duck.