It could have been a beautiful day if only that bald chicken hadn't imposed herself.
The ladies who had just fluttered about on the fence stopped clucking abruptly when the strange duck landed among them.
They had no desire to socialise with what was different from them.
"What are you," the older one asked and without waiting for an answer she looked the other way. She had no desire to sit anywhere else. He who arrives last must adapt. It had always been like that.
The little intruder didn't want to be chased away and bent down to take a closer look at the hens on her right side. She was a bit chickeny but could still see that a hen looked just like her.
"You wish we're alike," the hen cackled, "I have a comb and I can't say the same about you."
"Just ignore her," said hen number three, "ignore and she'll go away by herself."
Neglecting wasn't easy but the hens did their best and looked stoically in the other direction. No matter what the little hen said they did not react and they hushed the little intruder to death.
Being different isn't easy and chickens can be very mean.
Prompt/picture: @freewritehouse / pixabay.com