If there was anything that this man could love, it was this one duck. This one duck that sat on his counter. It never left him, like so many other things had. It was his reminder that he wasn't hated by the world. The animal was almost his security blanket.
No, he wasn't crazy for believing an object could bring comfort. Because every morning he would look into it's eyes and remember that time when everything was not screwed up. When he had something going for him.
Today, he went downstairs and when he looked at it, he remembered when all he knew was his camera. When he had won the duck at that photography contest. It was last place, but something nonetheless. He smiled, and went to the basement and grabbed his old Nikon. It was here when he thought he could make the shutter button speak.
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