“What do you call yourself?” the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it had!
Monty rolled his eyes, the stuff they were showing kid’s nowdays, it was enough to put a seagull off of his cold chips but at least the kids did come. Last winter he’d nearly died of starvation!
As the performance came to an end he strutted over, now he’d play his part.
Dutifully he cawed but they all hurried past and confused he frowned, what were those things over their mouths?
Mournfully he eyed the sea; perhaps he’d learn to fish after all.
© Deb Whittam 2020