The sentence has haunted me for two months. The ducks are coming. What does it mean? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!?! Are those feathery ball of pure wrath with bills finally going to attack? Or is it something else? I sigh and and sit back. And as I gaze out my window, I see them on the horizon. Bills, beady eyes, feathers, and worst of all, supersized. The ducks are coming alright. Now if only they had said they’d be as big as a damn house.

I stumble up, grabbing my bag and running out of my room. “DUCK’S ARE HERE AND THEY’RE BIG AS HELL!!!!” I scream as I run through my apartment complex. People are bolting outside and running away, just like me. But then, I hear the building creak. And then the roof starts to crumble. “The ducks are here....” I whisper. The roof collapses. My last sight is of a giant yellow foot coming through the roof and dry wall falling around me.

Alex Baxter. A new detective on the force. Only 25. And tonight was her first case. The broken bike lies in the intersection. Blood is lightly splattered on it, nothing too bad. But the car that hit it was going around 70 MPH according to how best up the bike was. The parents of the victim came earlier and identified the bike. They said they’d recognize the lightning bolt painted on the front of the bike anywhere. The victim was a 16 year old girl by the name of Mackenzie “Mack” Albert. Her mom and dad said that she was heading to a sleepover across town. That could be a cover up for her running away. Pack a bag, tell mommy and daddy your heading to a sleepover, and they’re none the wiser. But there was one question on everyone’s mind: where the hell is she? We had a crime scene and a criminal but no victim. “I’m gonna head back to the station. See what I can mask of this.” The detective says, getting into her car. She drives out of the small part of town, and into the forest connecting it to the main part of town. Something was off. She just couldn’t place it.

A young woman stands on the side of the road, her arm extending. She’s attempting to hitchhike. Alex slows down and opens the side door. “Hop on in.” She says with a smile. The young woman grins faintly, mutters a thank you, and gets in. “You’re hurt.” Alex says. “Ain’t anything bad.” Her passenger says. The girl looked younger than 18. “What’s your name kid?” “That doesn’t matter. What matters is what I’m about to tell you. Under the crooked oak in the middle of the forest is where you’ll find the missing piece to the crime. In the Albert’s basement is the reason she ran away.... the reason I ran away.” The passenger says. “I?” Alex asks, glancing at her passenger. “My name is Mack Albert. Just go to where I told you. You’ll find everything you need.” And with that, Mack is gone and all that’s left is a beat up back pack.

In the following weeks everything was revealed. Mack was found exactly where she said she’d be. The Alberts were arrested. What they found in the basement was disgusting and disturbing. Pictures of Mack in different states of pain, no clothes, with bruises all over her body. The Albert’s weren’t even her real parents. She was adopted at nine. She lived through this hell for 6 years. Detective Alex was the only one that knew the girl herself was the one that put her in the trail. The official report? Mack Albert, 16, female, died when hit by a car, was running away from home. Both parents and driver are in jail awaiting trail. And at the bottom of a page, a little note. “Thanks” -Mack

From the outside, all is normal. From the outside, no one sees what happens to those who are different. Everyone smiles, and keeps on with their lives. No one points out the empty beds. Elders, children, those in power, it doesn’t matter. From the outside, this is just a little village. Nothing to see here, it’s perfect. Because they purge those who are not. The little girl next door who was crippled. One night she vanished from her bed. I see her parents smiling through their tears, being TOLD to smile through their tears. The elderly lady with Alzheimer’s one street over. Gone without a trace. Her children say it was for the best, she was getting bad anyways. But I can see the light on in her house at night. I see three heads bent over in sorrow, mourning their mother. My mother, a woman who was once well known and loved in our community. And then she had me with a traveler who soon left. He came back shortly after I was born. My dad stayed. He had to. My mother was dead. Then there’s me. A girl with no mother. A girl who hides away. A girl who has trained her whole life preparing to revolt. To take those who are different, who are flawed, and those who know the truth and revolt. I stand out. I’ve nearly been killed before. Someone’s body was never found, and it sure wasn’t mine. So yes. I am flawed. I am broken. I am not perfect. I am not what this village wants me to be. But I am what it needs me to be.