I have an amazing and heartwarming story for you guys. Yesterday me and Nichole were running errands. It was a miserable day full of pain and sadness and endless medical offices. As we were leaving one of those, we saw a mother duck leading a train of babbys across the road.
Now, Nichole loves ducks to an unreasonable degree. Which is saying something since it's reasonable to love ducks to a pretty damn high degree.
THESE DUCKS WILL MAKE NICHOLE HAPPY, I thought to myself. THESE DUCKS WILL RESCUE OUR DAY!
I stopped the car in the middle of the two lanes to protect the duck's passage. We giggled and squealed as the ducks hobbled and quacked. A woman and child on the sidewalk also saw the ducks and joined us in the squee party. All human hearts within range were severely warmed.
Suddenly, a metaphorical cloud passed over the sun, which was also metaphorical. The ducks were on the grassy median and were hobbling and quacking into the other side of the street. A large silver SUV with an elderly man at the wheel was barreling toward them. It seemed highly unlikely that he would see the ducks.
THE DUCKS WERE GOING TO DIE!
A vision unfolded in my head. While Nichole and the woman and the child and myself--all of us passionate lovers of ducks--look on in horror, the ducks disappear beneath the SUV's cruel black tires. Nichole, overwhelmed by the sight of her day's one ray of light snuffed out before her eyes, jumps in front of a passing truck and kills herself. The mother and daughter, who were on their way home from the funeral of the woman's parents and husband and son--who were all recently killed by an SUV--also lose all hope and suffer simultaneous brain aneurysms. The elderly man who killed the ducks steps out of the car and removes his Vietnam Veteran baseball cap.
"There is no innocence left in the world," he mutters. "I have killed it all."
He pulls a pistol out of his jacket and shoots himself in the head. His brains spray all over his wife's face. His wife has a brain aneurysm. I am left alone in a field of blood and sadness. I cry for a few minutes and then have a brain aneurysm. Later, the duck autopsy reveals the baby ducks died of brain aneurysms moments before impact so in a sense, they were killed twice.
BUT NONE OF THIS HAPPENED!
Because as the SUV was hurtling toward tragedy, Nichole leaped into action! Without a moment's hesitation she dived out of the car and ran toward the SUV, waving her arms and screaming, "DUCKS! DUUUUUUUUCKS!"
The elderly man screeched to a stop mere feet from the ducks. The ducks, realizing they had just felt death's rancid breath on their hilarious little waddling butts, sped up slightly until they were across the road and safe in the grass.
The elderly man got out of his SUV and took off his Vietnam Veteran baseball cap. He looked at Nichole. Nichole looked at him. He gave her a crisp, wet-eyed salute, and she returned it. We all went home, pondering life and mortality and ducks.
This morning, a letter arrived in the mail. There was a key in it. It was the key to the city of Duckburg.
My girlfriend is a hero in Duckburg.