Long long ago, in a land far far away…
Lived a wise teeny weeny spider whose first name was Incy, and whose last name was Wincy. Incy was so little and Quackling was so big but Incy was Quackling’s favourite, and Quackling was Incy’s favourite and they loved each other very much, forever and forever, and that’s all folks.
But that wasn’t all. One day when Quackling was sad, Incy spun a lovely web saying “cheer up” and gave her a spidery hug with all eight of her long skinny legs. Why are you sad, she asked. Quackling told her about the swan with colourful feathers who used to write kind and interesting letters. I even saw him dip his colourful feathers in colourful ink to draw colourful pictures, she said. Incy was a rather famous webbing artist herself and gasped, you mean the swan is better than me?!
Some moons passed and one evening just before the sun dropped off the edge of the world, the quacklings and quacks, the goslings and geese, the cygnets and swans, and all such creatures sat under a tree for a picnic. Quackling quacked a little to an arrogant old quack who wore a crown of gold, a chain of gold around his neck, and a golden ring. Actually, he owned three bags full of gold. Midst the crowd of random feathers, she felt lost, and bored. Then, she saw the familiar colourful feathers of a swan she had not met before. Quackling said good evening Mr Bow, and Rain said good evening Miss Ling. But before she could quack, the dessert of her favourite cream burnt lice was served. She turned to the food, and the swan turned to talk to other swans. But Quackling stopped him.
Hey I just met you, she quacked, and this is crazy. But we were friends! You like writing letters, I like writing letters, you like reading them, and I like reading them too, you showed me colourful pictures, and I showed you mine, you told me stories about your pond, and I told you stories of mine. We laughed, we understood – but one day, we stopped writing, and you never ever ever wrote back again. Did you run out ink, run out of paper, run out of stamps, of envelopes, of paper, or pens. No, but you have a best friend already, Rain replied. Does that mean we can’t be friends either? Oh fine you meanie, maybe swans are too big and too important to be friends with quacklings, Quackling stuck her bill in the air, and stormed off.
Later, whenever she remembered the letters and felt sad (which was quite often, because she was an unhappy quackling), she would see wet cats and dogs frantically fall out of the clouds, hitting the dirt with a huge splash. Then she would hum to herself, Rain Rain go away, come again another day. One day, she received a colourful envelope with a not so long letter saying, hey, I am sad too. Quackling felt even more sad and didn’t know what to do.
That’s all folks. The end.