The Swan

A dusty, stifling summer. The lake lay as still as the air. A swan approached from afar: a white speck in the boiled blue of the sky. It landed in a flurry of water spray, swam towards the elevated dock, and pecked at my trainer.

“Sally, your uncle’s here!”

I looked up the hill at our white house surrounded by the rusty yellow of the sun-beaten grass. I didn’t want to go up there.

“Sally, come! Your uncle has something important to tell you!”

My uncle always had something important to tell me when he stayed over. Usually, he confided in me at night. It was so important and so secret that he never wanted my mother to know about it.

I ignored my mother’s calls and turned back to the swan. I fed it some bread.

My uncle came down the path and put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you want to say hello to your uncle?”

I shrugged his hand off. I wanted to run away and never come back. My uncle placed his hand back on my shoulder.

Right then, the swan hissed. It spread its giant wings and lifted off, pedaling the water to gain speed. It flew straight at my uncle, bounced off, but came back for him right after. My uncle raised arms to protect his face. Instead, he met a mighty wing. A visceral crunch sounded, and he sunk to his knees.

I stared down at him as he cradled his arm and then turned to find the swan. It was once again a mere speck in the distance, flapping its long, long wings to somewhere far away from here.