It was a commotion that caused everyone to run for their lives. The
swan ran to the front of the museum, which got people scampering
inside for safety and novelty mugs. Quickly it found its way to the train
station. This was where things got messier. Commuters panicked as
the swan threw the railway station into pandemonium. There were cries
and shouts of panic. Bowler hats and briefcases flew in every
direction. The swan danced a deathly dance on the railway tracks, the
beautiful white wings all burnt. It shrieked and moved in circles on the
track, trying to take off. A firefighter came running towards it, wearing a
firefighter suit and yellow helmet, and he had in his hands a fire
extinguisher in case he needed to club it to death. As he was running
to the swan’s rescue, a police officer was also dispatched to the
scene. Not understanding their intent to help it, the poor swan took off
in alarm, hopping down the railway track. They chased the swan until it
could no longer run and caught up with the sorry creature just as it
collapsed on the track.
“If only we’d got here a minute sooner,” the firefighter said.
“The swan was just too fast,” the police officer answered kindly.
“There’s no way we could have saved it.”
“That is true. I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“Oh, I’m Maureen Smith. And you are?”
“Daryl Carrott.”
At that moment a train came hurtling into the station and ran over
the swan’s smouldering remains. My parent’s romance was kindled as
the glowing embers hovered gently on the breeze like confetti.