Mallard felt very lonely. Because his brothers always stole his Grubs, and
slept in his corner of the nest, Mallard decided to leave home. Things were
getting too tight between the rest of his feathery family anyway.
As he waddled further away from the scrubby twisted tree, with its finger like
branches and pale green leaves which he called home for the past year of his
life, Mallard felt an increasing loneliness gather deep in his heart.
He let out a squeaky sigh as he pushed onwards past some lonely farmland. He
passed a lonely BaaBaa, he passed a lonely fence. Everything looked lonely in
the Mallards beady blue eyes. Yet this only proved that the poor thing was very
lonely.
Yet when he passed a lonely chicken coop, protected by some lonely chicken
wire, Mallard suddenly realised he didn't have to be lonely anymore. With a
small devious smile you can only get with an evil plan in mind, the Mallard
pecked vigorously at the fluffy earth beneath the fence and his feet, and slowly
produced the tiniest of holes, which he barely managed to squeeze under. The
sound of clucking and pecking became apparent to the Mallard as he waddled sneakily
into the shabby shack-of-a-chicken coop. Through the hay that was strewn across
the floor, Mallard spotted exactly what he was longing for: An unguarded nest
full of eggs.
He'd hatch them to be his little friends, and just as he snuck over, carefully
avoiding a chicken in deep-slumber.
Mallard gingerly scooped three smooth brown eggs safely in both of his wings.
The coop was silent as death.
Mallard held his breath and tiptoed towards the entrance. Yet one beady eye
flashed at him in the dimness.
One shocked cluck split the air, and thus starting an avalanche of chickens.
They toppled form their nests, flapping their wings as feathers broke away and
danced in the air around them.
Brown hens, white hens, grey hens… all eyes as wide as marbles, screeching
at the top of their lungs. Any egg invasion meant a consequence for the thief!
Mallard skidded on some dung that was streaked across the floor, covered by
the thin dry hay and nesting material that fell like rain from the falling hens
nests above.
Mallard jolted, his little legs thudded dully on the dusty ground outside the
egg-house.
How could he have been so stupid not to have brought chloroform with him!?
The eggs jiggled uncomfortably, and slid threateningly down his sleek yellow
under-feathers.
A sea of clucking feathered beasts rampaged after him, their many beaks pecked
at his tail and feet. Each time a sharp bill came swishing down upon him, the
Mallard dodged, his legs flailed about clumsily in his haste.
He shot like a little green bolt of lightning back under the fence. He tripped
and rolled a few metres, before sitting up straight, as he ruffled his feathers
to remove the dust. Disgruntled noises came from the chickens who were attempting
to squeeze their bulk under the chicken wire as well.
Mallard knew he should have felt bad, but he couldn't help feeling smug when
he waddled off with three eggs in his clutches, not even a scratch on the surfaces.
Yet when the thin chicken-wire bent, allowing the chickens to escape, the chase
continued in pursuit, and all Mallard did was scream his head off as he darted
through the bush and fallen twigs, to escape this nightmare!!
***
Bolanski quickly made sure no one was watching, before he slid open a draw
to a synthetic black desk. The papers inside supplied the answer to his idea.
Who was on the insurance list, and could easily be put in an 'accident'. His
brother did come in use seeing he co-owned an insurance company… and although
Ryan and James were not on speaking terms, Ryan Bolanski had a feeling he could
finally forgive his sibling for flushing his Evil Fuzzle down the lavatory.
To his delight, Bolanski noted the whole garbage industry had their vehicles
insured.
He pulled a pen and notepad from his pocket, and wrote the number plates hurriedly
in loopy black ink.
Rodgers wasn't the best equipped when it came to lawyers, so Bolanski could
get a nice little cash pay for any injuries Rodgers vehicles may inflict on
him through one of the trucks… yet this all fell into Ryan Bolanski's plan.
He roughly stuffed the sheets of paper back in the draw, his heart raced when
he heard footsteps approaching. He shoved his pen and notepad back into his
jean pocket, and glanced at a window, then sprinted to it. Bolanski shoved it
open, his hands too shaky to work properly. He used all his strength and hoisted
himself up and out. The door burst open and James Bolanski's sigh could be heard
as he muttered:
"Now I've told the cleaner to close the window!" And after a pair of scaly
blue hands crept into Ryan's view, the fingers curled and shut the window. Ryan
began to hyperventilate. The cars below seemed like ants, and the breeze roared
in his ears more than the city sounds below. Bolanski gulped as he gripped the
window ledge, his legs dangled helplessly below. They scraped against the dark
glass that smeared shoeprints onto their shiny transparent exterior. How long
could he hold on for?
Bolanski gulped repeatedly, his heart thumped wildly in his chest. He glanced
up at the endless grey sky above, to the endless drop below. Yet when his fingers
slowly slid from the only grasp of hope he had, he had no option but to kick
and scream as he fell through the thinnest of air. Bolanski yelled as loudly
as he could, yet that was drowned out by the roaring in his ears as he flailed
his limbs.
"IF I LIVE THROUGH THIS I PROMISE TO BE AN HONEST PERSON!" He screamed, his
hands snapped together. He saw the ground spinning towards him. Bolanski realised
at that moment that no one would save him. It was a Do It Yourself kind
of rescue.
Ryan threw out his arms and grasped another speeding window ledge. He felt
the strain on his shoulders, neck, and fingers as they had to come to terms
with the fact they were not falling anymore. Bolanski's heartbeat returned to
its racing state (rather than its un-beating state,) and glanced down beneath
him. Rows after rows of perfect white windowsills were aligned perfectly parallel
from where he hung defencelessly.
Bolanski released his grip, then he quickly clenched his fingers around the
windowsill below him. He let go once more.
Fall, clench, fall, clench.
Each time burned an ache into the forced muscles in the Krawk's body. He continued
falling and clenching, until his feet met the ground and at which point he bent
down and kissed the dusty grey substance.
"GROUND! Oh sweet ground!" he exclaimed, the smog from cars smelled like the
breath of life.
Passing bystanders merely stared as Bolanski kneeled on the ground and stroked
it fondly as though he'd never seen ground before. His face shifted from sombre
to set, and he quickly rose to his feet then scampered out of watchful eyes
of strangers. He had a job to do. Bolanski's padded scaly feet snuck into the
parking lot, a glint in his eye became more malicious as he rounded the corner
to Rodgers Garbage Corp.
Much like giant car shaped windowsills, the trucks were aligned perfectly,
and Bolanski couldn't help giggle evilly as he flipped open his notepad and
prowled the rows, searching for his first electrical victim.
Bolanski often placed the side of his head delicately testing the temperature
of the engine through the metal, to see which ones were used often or not.
Ryan's shiny, pointed teeth were revealed in an evil grin, as he chose the
magnificent polished GT1001 to play the part in his plan. The tires were like
solid rock of the darkest shaded grey. The whole machine shimmered, even in
the shadow of the garbage truck next to it (a rather dusty, mud-splattered majesty,
with Ol' Betsy branded in black paint on both sides of the door.)
Ryan Bolanski reached deep into his pocket and drew out a single yellow screwdriver.
He took a moment loosening the hubcaps to the front-left tire, when he heard
voices and two pairs of feet drifting into his ears. Panic stricken, Bolanski
ducked lower, and rolled to the opposite side, hardly daring to breathe.
"Now Mr. Meerca, we have selected your vehicle you can use for the day as
a tryout," came the unmistakable voice of Mr. Rodgers.
To be continued... | 
