A Firm Stand

Hmph. Stillness is for the weak. My wings were folded tight, but my webbed foot decided to shift. A faint scrape echoed on the white tabletop. I locked my knees. Next to me sat another yellow duck, propping up its chin and staring into nothing. I gave its plastic shoulder a firm, stubborn nudge with my wing. Solid. Motionless. Unacceptable slack. I squared my shoulders, locked my scowl into place, and planted both feet firmly right where I stood. I am not moving.