The Ugly Duckling: A Lois and Clark Fairy Tale

by Shayne Terry <byron212@yahoo.com

Rated G

Submitted October 2002

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Once, in a park on the edge of Hobbs Bay, a duckling was  born. She looked like all the other ducklings, but from the  very beginning it was clear that she was different from all  the others. Instead of following her mother and doing the  things the other girl ducklings did, she tried to imitate  her father and the other drakes.

Her father, a gruff old bird who had lost many of his  feathers, rarely had time for her. He did his best to push  her back into the nest, but no matter how often he pushed,  she'd always leap out and follow him. The other drakes made  fun of him, saddled with this odd duck child, and they  laughed at her. She pretended she didn't care, but each  insult was like an arrow to her heart. In time, she came to  feel ugly inside.

Despite the derision of the other birds, she excelled at  doing what the drakes did. She swam faster, she was more  aggressive at stealing bread from the children who came on  Saturdays, and in time she found that she could force any  bird on the lake to back down simply by an effort of will.

The duckling was better at being a duck than any of the  adults, but she was alone. While the others danced gently  on the water, pairing off with an instinct older than time,  she was left as an onlooker. When the others made love, had  children, took joy in their families, she was left on the  outside looking in.

She was alone even when surrounded by the others, and with  each passing day something inside her died. The duckling  came to believe that she was irredeemably ugly inside, and  she did everything she could to try to ignore that feeling.  Fighting even harder, she gained a reputation with the  other ducks. They called her "Mad drake", despite the fact  that she was neither mad, nor a drake.

The name only increased her sense of isolation. The harder  she fought to fit in, the farther the others pulled away  from her. She began to despair, to feel that she would  always be alone. The feeling of emptiness was almost more  than she could bear.

Throughout the long winter, she'd cry when the others were  asleep. While the others huddled closely together, basking  in the warmth of family, she shivered and suffered.

In time, spring came, as it always did, and with it, a  thaw. The duckling by now was no longer a child, but a  fully-grown female in her own right. She was attractive,  but the drakes feared her, and still she was alone.

Searching for frogs one evening, she swam gently through  some weeds and stumbled onto something she'd never seen  before. A great bird, graceful and white sat by the shore.  It was disconsolate, its long, slender neck drooping as it  stared at its own reflection in the water.

Another duck might have feared to approach such a bird, for  though it was beautiful, it was new and strange. The  duckling, however, wasn't afraid of anything but being  alone. As she was already alone, she had little fear of  anything else.

"Why are you sad?" she asked, swimming silently up to him.

The swan didn't look at her for a moment. "I'm the last of  my tribe, and I'm all alone."

"Being alone isn't so bad," she replied. "I suppose you  could always try to change your feathers and join with the  others, but why would you want to?"

The swan nodded slowly, but a gleam appeared in its eye.

They talked, and they swam together, and the duckling was  almost overwhelmed. She felt as though she was no longer  alone. They agreed to meet the next night, and she went  happily home.

A new drake appeared in the flock the next morning. He was  handsome and competent and good at all the things drakes  should be good at. He was interested in her, too, something  that the other birds whispered about.

The duckling spurned him. Her mind had no room for anything  but the great white bird, the graceful neck, and the  reflection on still waters. Despite her rejection, the  drake followed her, challenging her to be better than she  was.

That night, the swan seemed sadder than it had the night  before, but they still spent an enchanted evening together.

One evening followed another, spring falling into summer.  The drake never ceased his efforts to come into her good  graces, and she never gave him much hope. She grew  comfortable with him, however, and in time, that feeling  grew into affection. The drake was a good companion,  enjoyable to be with during the day, and somehow, she felt  less ugly when she was with him.

The swan remained mysterious. No matter how many evenings  they spent together, she never felt as though she knew his  heart. Always, there was some sort of secret sadness in his  eyes. She began to despair of ever being with him.

When the drake who led the flock began to take interest  her, the duckling felt flattered. She wanted all the things  the other ducks had: the closeness, the family, the simple  happiness in life. It was becoming apparent that she had no  future with the swan, and though she had a drake she  thought of as a friend, she'd long dismissed the idea of  making him her mate.

Her friend came to her, begging her not to marry the leader  of the flock. He claimed he loved her.

Though it hurt the duckling, she quietly told the drake  that her marriage plans were set. He was her friend and  nothing more, and that was simply the way of life.

On the night before she was to become a duck-wife, the  duckling came to the swan and asked him directly whether  there was any chance that they might become mates.

"I have to wonder," said the swan, "if you are blinded by  my white feathers, by my slender neck. Do you really love  me for who I am?"

"I'd love you if you were no different from any other drake  on the pond," she replied fervently.

"Under the circumstances, I can't believe that." For the  first time that they'd known each other, the swan swam away  from her.

Saddened and angered, the duckling returned to the flock,  determined to marry the drake leader and make what little  she could out of life.

Oddly enough, throughout the long night, the image of the  swan was replaced with the image of her friend. Her friend  was strong and handsome, everything a drake should be. If  he'd wanted to be leader of the flock, he could have been.  Instead, his only purpose in life seemed to be to love her.

The thought that the swan rejected her hurt, and over the  course of the night she came to realize that she cared as  much for the drake as she ever had for the swan. Marrying  the leader, living without love, was more than she'd be  able to bear.

She'd have rejected the leader, but she never had a chance.  He was killed in an accident, the way ducks sometimes are.

Turning to the drake would have been the most natural thing  in the world, but he was still smarting from her rejection.  The duckling knew it would take time to heal the wounds  she'd dealt him, but she had nothing but time.

Her evenings with the swan grew fewer and fewer as she  spent more of them with her friend. In time, they  acknowledged the love that was growing between them. The  duckling didn't feel ugly when she was with him; he made  her feel beautiful in a way she'd never realized was  possible.

On an evening in late autumn, she went to the swan to tell  him goodbye. She'd found the friend she wanted to spend the  rest of her life with, and although she still sometimes  dreamt of white feathers and an arching white neck, she was  willing to close that part of her life away forever.

"Part of me will always love you," she began, "but I've  found the drake I want to spend my life with. He loves me,  and I love him, and when I'm with him I don't feel alone."

"You'd give me up for him?" the swan asked quietly.

Dipping her head, she looked back up at him. "I think he  wants me to be his wife."

The swan was silent for a moment, then said, "What would  you say if you discovered that he'd lied to you?"

"I'd be angry," the duckling said, "but I love him. Love is  about forgiveness."

Dipping his head, the swan said, "Then I have something to  show you."

Stretching his head, the swan twisted and shrank. His  beautiful white feathers shifted into a more common brown  color. With a swimming head, the duckling realized that she  knew the shape the swan was taking.

Her friend the drake sat before her.

"Which is the real you?" She couldn't help the anger and  hurt in her voice. "Did you just take on the white feathers  and the long neck as a way to impress me?"

"My real body is that of the swan, but inside I've always  been the drake." The drake stared at her for a long moment.  "I didn't want to make you an outsider just because I was."

In time, the duckling forgave him, and she discovered that  she had the best of both worlds. By day she had a drake who  could challenge her, be a partner, a helpmate and a lover.

But by night she got to fly with the swan.

Being a swan-wife was more than she ever could have hoped  for. Best of all, she knew she'd never be alone.

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