Duck

I remember, one time, the Dead Dad killed a duck.

We were on our way home from a night out, at the cinema or theatre. It had been a pleasant family evening out. A duck was in the road, and didn’t disperse as quickly as it needed to.

The Dead Dad stopped the car. We didn’t really know what was going on. But, looking out the side window, I saw a duck bleakly looking up as the Dead Dad alternately twisted its neck and punched it in the head.

I still don’t really understand why or how he did it.

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