Hinky and the "Drain"

“It’s a problem of logistics, you see, “ Hinky intoned as he spouted his vast scientific knowledge of electron sharing to the throng of enthralled on-lookers. He’d never had an audience so enraptured by every word, every nuance of his spoken diatribe, and there was no way he was going to pass up this chance to bask in the glow of the attention he was getting.

As he motioned gracefully with his wing, drawing an invisible panorama of the animation playing out in his mind, he couldn’t help but notice that some of his audience began to look around rather nervously, and it was at this time that he looked down at his left scapular and froze in horror. There, like a cancerous tumor standing out amidst his dark gray feathers, were tiny white speckles! As he stared incredulously, the lakeside went silent, and now, he knew, everyone, EVERYONE, was staring right at those speckles.

Every moment of life-draining embarrassment he had ever faced, from times during his gilded youth right up to this moment, a moment that was to be the turning point in his professional life, a golden moment that would propel him into the annals of scientific notoriety, came rushing back into him, clutching at his trachea, crushing his ability to breathe, causing an indescribable feeling of swelling in his crop. Without another word, Hinky rushed from the bank of the lake, diving into the water, determined to never show his bill to the academic world ever again.

One of the conference organizers, a swan of great import in the scientific community, shook her head as the disaster unfolded, noting that this was the third time that Hinky had run from even the slightest adversity. She swore to never invite him to speak again. “Ladies and gentleducks; please accept my deepest apologies, but it seems that our honored speaker has decided to...” HONK...HONK HONK HONK.

In a flash all was forgotten as the audience made a dash toward the elderly human who showed up, brown bag in hand, to feed them their favorite daily snacks.