The Ducklings

‘Brother, look at this photograph,’ the child almost shouted in excitement.

But the elder brother was not interested. They had been scrounging the park for half an hour and still they had not been able to find even one worthwhile thing. He could feel the anger of his father who had gone berserk when, on getting up from his bed, he had seen them sleeping; they should have already been out in the park to pick empty beer and water bottles.

‘Don’t you waste your time picking silly things? Find something that father can sell.’

The child was not even six years old and sparks of curiosity often distracted him to the annoyance of his elder brother.   

‘Look at these little birds and their father.’

‘It’s not their father, it’s their mother.’

‘True; father would have sent them to collect empty bottles.’

Elder brother was dumbstruck.

The boys kept gazing with envy at the little ducklings.

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A post for Sunday PhotoFiction on a photo prompt.