**(WARNING: violent, psychological horror?, mention of death)**

A delicate bundle of feathers. An elegant landing. A graceful ripple of waves.

The landing duck was truly a picturesque sight; it was a swift movement within the mist, setting up a picture that credited the art of photography.

But for the locals like me, it was a picture of quite the contrary.

It was hunting time.

The scary men pulled out their guns. My mother always told me to stay away from them.

—

“Come back before the sun sets!” she told me today too.

“But mom,” I complained. “I’m almost 10 years old! I’m old enough to stay out longer.”

“No, Milo, it’s too dangerous out there.”

“But you always say that!”

“That doesn’t make it any less significant,” my mother sighed.

“But I’m gonna be with Jack! He’s almost 11 years old!”

**My mother sighed again.**

“Okay, see ya!” I yelled, taking the brief flicker of hesitation to run out the house. Before she could say another word, I was out of the house.

I walked down the street, and met Jack, my best friend. **He always appeared at the right times.**

He waved to me, and grinned happily, saying, “Race you to the river!”

He always beat me. He was a fast runner.

—

After only a few minutes, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was deafening, and my legs refused to run anymore.

The river was a long way away still, and although I stubbornly insisted on returning after sunset, I did subconsciously take note of the setting Sun.

“Wait, Jack!” I called out, practically breathless. **How did he always manage to run so quickly?** “Wait for me!”

But he couldn’t hear me, and I couldn’t see him.

**BANG.**

A gunshot.

It was hunting season.

“Hey!” A deep voice called out. “Move it, kid! It’s dangerous out here.”

And suddenly, all the childish courage and energy I had minutes ago had disappeared.

Sheepishly, I apologised quietly and darted off. Jack must have still been running, since I could still see no sign of him.

I took another route to the river, where our normal meeting spot was.

He wasn’t there.

“Jack?” I called out, now surrounded by a growing mist and a darkening sky.

I was so distracted, I hadn’t even notice the Sun disappearing down into the waters.

**BANG.**

Another gunshot.

Louder, this time.

Closer.

Where could Jack have gone? This was our only meeting spot.

I decided that I would wait by the tree for 10 more minutes. If he didn’t turn up, then I would make my way home.

I sat down, turning to face the river beside me. It was truly a beauty. The crystal waters and the enveloping mist, gently touching the surface.

And then, I saw it.

A flurry of feathers.

A graceful landing.

Sure, it wasn’t a swan, with a structure of perfection, like the books would depict.

It was a duck, looking probably more like a goose if I’m honest, but I thought they were a curious, interesting looking creature.

They drifted on the waters, allowing the gentle waves to simply push them along.

I thought to myself, “It would be cool to lie back on the waters and float…”

But before I could put to life my actions in my mind, I heard it.

**BANG.**

The third shot.

And the floating duck was no more.

The previously diamond-like, clear waters were now infected by pools of blood, turning the water scarlet, like rubies.

I stood up.

A chill shot down my spine. It was a ghastly feeling.

I didn’t like waiting anymore.

Sorry Jack, but I couldn’t wait for you.

I went home.

—

I walked back to my street. I thought of going to find Jack, and making sure he got home. But it then occurred to me that I didn’t know where he even lived.

He just appeared at the right times.

But he wasn’t appearing now.

“Hey, kiddo,” a man said to me, walking by the street footpath. “Are you lost? You’ve been walking around for a while now.”

“I’m looking for my friend.” I replied curtly.

“Oh, does he live around here? I live around here too.”

“He’s… a bit taller than me.” I described. “He’s got fluffy brown hair, and he smiles really big, like this. He’s called Jack.”

I thought the man would appreciate my imitation, but instead his face turned deathly pale, upon hearing the name.

“Um, kid,” he began slowly. “When did you last see him, exactly?”

“Today! He raced me to the river like an hour ago, before sunset.” I explained.

The man did not reply.

“Kid… let’s… let’s get you home.” The man said at last.

“My mom said not to let strangers follow me home,” I retorted, because that was the truth.

The man didn’t know how to reply to that.

Then, a neighbour whom I did recognise, walked across the street towards us.

“Mr Harris? And Milo? Are you okay?” The woman asked kindly. She was my next door neighbour. She baked us cakes occasionally.

“The man was saying he’ll follow me home,” I said bluntly, pointing an accusatory finger at the man.

“No, no, let me explain.” The man said, going over to the woman. He whispered words in his ear. I couldn’t hear what he said.

But the woman’s eyes widened, and she too, turned deathly pale.

“Milo, dear, let’s get you home,” she said, forcing a weird smile.

“Okay.” I agreed, only because I know she’s friends with my mother.

—

We arrived home.

My mother was about to tell me off, but the two adults approached her quickly.

She invited them in, and they all entered a room. I was shut out.

But I was feeling curious again, so I tried to listen to what the strange man and the friendly woman had to say.

I pressed my ear against the door, and just about made sense of the muffled conversation.

“I came across your boy on the street,” the man began. “He seemed lost, so I tried to help.”

I heard my mother say thank you.

“But he said he was looking for someone. A boy named Jack.” The man continued. The room fell completely silent for some moments.

“I know,” my mother said. “He…”

Her voice trailed off, and the woman added, “Milo said he had last seen him just a few hours back.”

“Yes, I know.” My mother said again, then laughing bitterly.

**“How could the boy have been seen when he was killed 5 years ago?”**

—

—

Thank you for reading

This was quite sad to write. I tried writing like a child would think, but it clearly didn’t work very well.

The duck was essentially representing the boy, Jack.

Sorry for the bad quality writing again