Wednesday, 5:40pm. We get another call for an ambulance. A middle-aged woman is having a heart attack. We get calls like this everyday, I mean, it’s our job to save people from dying. But nothing has been the same since the sentence “the ducks are coming” was said for the first but not last time. It’s the only thing people have said before dying for the past two months, and no one knows what it means. It’s like a shadow that’s following you: you can act like it doesn’t exist, but you can still feel its presence.

When we get to the place where the woman is, she’s almost dead. We get her into the ambulance, we try to revive her and make sure she doesn’t die in the way to the hospital.

But we all knew it was too late right from the start, and I know we were all thinking the same: “Please don’t say ‘the ducks are coming’, please don’t say ‘the ducks are coming’, please don’t say ‘the ducks are coming’”.

And she didn’t say it.

Right before her heartbeat stopped, the woman said: “The ducks are already here”.

Suddenly, the ambulance ran over a duck and crashed.

It started with old folk in their hospital beds announcing that the ducks were coming. We thought it was a joke about some old tv show they used to watch. Then when younger people, dying in accidents or of awful diseases, continued saying it, we started to worry.

You see our people are blessed with the gift of prophecy - even if it is only for the last few seconds of life. Some people’s prophecies are personal, some can predict local events, some even reach to far universes. Some are literal, some are cryptic, some take the best Deciphers in the world to understand. But most people’s words come true within the year.

We waited for the ducks to come. Scientists created repellants, poisons, alarms; anything to keep the ducks away. Researchers delved into every possible meaning of the word duck. Parks and rivers and lakes were monitored for movement.

I suppose the cruel thing about prophecies is their lack of clarity. When a man in the north, out on a hunting trip, shot and ate a duck, he became patient zero in the Anasovirus outbreak. It spread rapidly; unrelenting, incurable, and fatal. Everyone lived in fear of contracting “The Ducks”.

I mean, before it had usually been something mellow like, “It’s going to rain on Thursday” or “The bus will not come tomorrow” or “Your neighbor will destroy your flowers.” Nobody thought anything of them, they we’re merely seen as heartfelt anecdotes to make the ones left behind think that their passing loved ones would see their future as they would be there even when they were dead. So nobody really thought anything of it when their dying aunt said, “The ducks are coming.” But the ducks didn’t come, which was a little unsettling, but then again, a time frame wasn’t mentioned. Then soon after, it happened again - someone’s sister, again - someone’s daughter, again - someone’s co-worker. Within two months everyone was talking about ducks.

The stores started to run out of bread as everybody wanted to be ready for the ducks. See, if it was going to rain on Thursday, your loved one would be in the rain; or they would be standing with you at the bus stop waiting for the bus that never came; they would be drawn in the footsteps of your neighbor walking over your flowerbed. Everyone wanted to feed their loved one. Masses of people started hovering around ponds and lakes. Everywhere you went you could hear someone using a duck-whistle. Some became more obsessed than others, but they all were obsessed nevertheless. Some said: “Maybe the dead are coming back.”

With all the bread being thrown into the water, more ducks did come, of course. Unfortunately, they all died of eating too much. The waters turned into porridge, if you will. The ducks didn’t so much come on their own - they were called, summoned. To some, it made no difference - the ducks had come. But others couldn’t let go: these were the same ducks they’d seen by the pond. Where were the new ducks?

Then one day, a roaring came. It started low, from someplace far. The streets started to fill up with people as the roaring grew. Everyone was bringing out their bread, some was even violently stolen by those who had thought the ducks already came but now realized - they must have been wrong! The roaring kept getting louder and louder until everybody had to keep their hands to their ears, until everyone was looking at the sky, silent. And then they came - the ducks. Wide, black, army based fighter planes - with ducks painted on their sides. I guess it was an inside joke to keep the birds at bay, to blend in. The dead indeed came back - but not to eat the bread, but to get the ones that were left behind.

  I stared at the ceiling, emotionless. After her long struggle against her own body, she had finally gone. I felt a certain emptiness, but I guess I had felt a very similar feeling for the past few months. We’ve known this was coming for the past seven months. 
  At that point, she was still her and we had no idea what was coming. It only took a few weeks though before I began to notice some differences in her behavior though. It wasn’t long before she basically lost her complete sense of self though. The feeling was weird. I knew her, but at the same time, it was like I didn’t. She was still extremely kind, but she forgot who I was and didn’t show me the same affection a mother usually shows her child. At times I felt heartbroken, but what can I do about it? It’s not anyone’s fault and there’s no reason for me to be angry. I simply had to make my peace with it. 
 Three months before her death, in a conversation with my therapist, I realized I had finally accepted the situation. I knew there was only one way this journey could end and it was coming up soon. For months, I tried so hard to come up with solutions to make living with her easier and think positively, but this wasn’t doing anything for either of us. It was just stressing me out and taking up time that would be better spent with her. I just had to deal with it. I felt like I had already lost her anyways. 
 I’ve made my peace with the situation, but there’s something bothering me. I know she was losing her mind and I wasn’t expecting meaningful last words, but something wasn’t right about what she said—“The ducks are coming.” She stared at me seriously after saying this for a few minutes before her breathing stopped. Frantically, I racked my brain for a response to this, trying to figure out what it could mean before it was too late, but I came up with nothing. 
   In my first conversation with my therapist after my mother’s death I brought up her last words, hoping perhaps she could help me figure out what it meant or if she could help me forget it. Bringing it up only made it worse though. As soon as I mentioned it, I felt my therapist’s interest peak. As I explained my thoughts on the phrase, she copied down notes, something she doesn’t usually do. Finally, she tells me, “Your mother is not the only one who’s said that phrase before.” After I have her a weird look, she told me, “I’ve talked to five other people who have said that was their loved one’s last words. None of them knew what it meant either. They were all suffering from the same disease your mother had. I’ve researched ducks and that, but found nothing.” Shocked, i immediately began my own research. 

At first everyone thought this was some type of joke. A hoax. Some sort of prank. Now, this is getting out of hand. It’s been a year since “Duck Fever” has started. The death rate continues to go up and everybody’s last words have been “The Ducks are coming“. Scientists have even murdered random people just to see what their last words would be. It was always “The ducks are coming”. Nothing more ... nothing less. My grandmother has started to get very ill and the doctors said she doesn’t have too much longer to live. She lost her hearing for the past three years so she has no clue about the duck fever. I’m praying her last words are different from everyone else’s since she doesn’t know about it. As I hold her hand , she tightens her grip. She starts to pull me closer to her. As I get closer she whispers in my ear “ The Ducks are coming .....today.” Her heart monitor stops. There’s a loud noise coming from outside. “ QUACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!”

........

It started with the elderly, in whispers. The little hospice rooms would house a soft murmur, always the same. “The ducks are coming.” Then all the others, every man, woman and child who passed away uttered the phrase— including my own sister. We’d known about her terminal illness for a while; we even discussed the matter, weeks before. “If my last words are about the ducks, Leanne,” she whispered, “you have to find out why. You have to solve this for me. Okay?” Now, I held her close to me as she took her final breaths. “It’s time, Lea,” she said in that sweet, hushed voice of hers. “Don’t forget your promise.” And then, inevitably, the words came: “The ducks are coming.” She relaxed into my arms, gone. A week later, I resumed work at the hospital. The pattern continued until one fateful day. The hospital overlooked a pond, usually filled with lily pads, frogs, a few fish, nothing more. The patients would look out the window at the pond or even visit it on occasion, but on the day no one was there, they came. The ducks came. They must have come by night, for by morning there were thousands of them. They waddled through the streets, they quacked indignantly at small children, they overran every sidewalk, yard, and road. No one knew where they were coming from. They’d get into stores, houses...even hospitals. We had to keep them away from the patients by any means necessary— the hospital staff would kick the things, bat them away, scream at them to leave before turning to soothe the clearly disturbed patients. If I hadn’t looked out the window at the pond, we may never have discovered the source of the ducks. My reasoning was simple enough: I needed a piece of my sister, a memory to get me through this troubling day, and the pond had always been where we played and invented games as children. I glanced at it from my window and gasped. The ducks. Were coming. From. The. Pond. They walked out, one by one, like some Sorcerer’s Apprentice bullshit. I stared, and suddenly a memory came to me. It was of my sister and I as young children, playing by the pond. “Leanne, watch!” She drew a duck in the mud and whispered words of her own creation under her breath. She then yelled, “Soon the ducks will come. They will come and never stop!” She scream-laughed as she sprinkled weeds on her masterpiece. I thought the fact that the drawing burned purple was only a dream. Now I stared out the window, and the same spot pulsed purple for only my eyes. Beth had wanted me to solve this for a reason. She remembered after all that time how her hands occasionally glowed without reason, how her drawings contained hidden prophecies. Behind me, a family gathered around a dying grandmother. The woman gravely whispered, “Only the sister can stop the ducks.”

"The ducks are coming." The words that changed my life. It was a normal day for a fish like me. I was just swimming around chatting with my friends minding my own business when it happened. So I guess I should give you some background first. Well, I Fin am apart of a magical fish clan called the Guffers. Now we are magical for a reason. Every time a fish from are clan dies they speak a line of the future. This is really helpful when we actually pay attention to what they are saying. Which sometimes doesn't happen. Case in point for the past few months all the Guffers have been saying the same words which isn't normal. No not normal at all. What are these words well the exact words I mentioned earlier. "The Ducks are coming."

I know what your thinking "Why wouldn't listen to a warning like that, your fish." I know right! But you have to understand my clan hasn't seen ducks in decades. Ducks are more like a legend now more than anything. Yah and the fact that my clan of fish are pretty arrogant and think that nothing can possibly hurt them. Stupid right but there's nothing I can do about it. And my friends are like the only ones who believe in the horrid words. And that my friends is exactly why we're in this situation. Let me explain. So yesterday we got a warning from our cousins the Trouts told us that the Ducks were coming. Surprise, surprise. No, but seriously we are in some big shit. After the warning yesterday we all just went to sleep. Well most of us did not including me. Then we woke up and now look where we're at. The ducks are here. I told them and they didn't listen and now we're in this mess. People are dying by the second. Why am I not freaking out? Well, I am currently leaving. No, I'm not a cowherd, unless you call not wanting to die being a cowherd. It doesn't matter anymore I am leaving anyway. I've almost made it out. Just a little further. Alright, I've made it. But wait what's that? Oh, that's not good a net. Oh My Fish Lord. This can't be happening. I've been caught. I just was brought to the boat. Wow, I never thought I would get to see a human. They look so so well weird. Wait what's that there saying? Yes, this isn't too bad! They want to keep me as a pet. Time skip two days later. Oh, this is the life. I'm just chilling in my totally cool tank. I get fed all the time and everyone leaves me alone. Except this boy named Filup but he's alright. I love it here.

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.

Love makes you wanna kill but do love cause pain we cry we fight we hurt one another we yell we pick up weapons cause you can’t find away to figure things out what love got to do with putting hands on one another try kill one another do you really love her like she love you would you go war for her u out here cheating while she being loyal holding it down now look at you lost a good one she put her heart on the line for you make sure you good would you do the same would you kill a nigga for her would u make sure she good love will make you do hurt full things an she out here heartbroken cause you don’t love her how she love you what love got to do with you coming in late she wonder where you at you lie and try cover up your mess cause you fuck up she will never know cause you steady try cover your ass when she find out you wanna get mad beat on her treat the other girls like queen while she try treat you like a king she love hard but would you do the same she’s hurt her heart can’t heal cause she need you to love her the way she love you she will always have your back will you have hers she got you will you have her like she got your back love means a lot to a woman she will always love you you just got to do the same and all the pain will go away then y’all got each other again just love the right way don’t put her through pain love her and she love you back💯💯😍