Note:
First time writing this kind of story, but I hope you enjoy it.
Donald Duck had been chasing jobs for as long as he could remember. Most of his letters were unanswered, while the rare callbacks only led to interviews. So far, it was the furthest point he could achieve. Today, he found himself in that position once again, hoping to finally get rid of his jobless status, and more importantly, survive. He was quite confident this time, all the documents he needed were already in his hands, stapled together with the best effort he could've made. Better yet, there were no other applicants in sight, so competition wasn't a concern. However, just when he thought he finally had a chance...
"What?! That's ridiculous! My voice has nothing to do with this kind of work!" Donald shouted, slamming his fist onto the manager's desk. The cracked and stained walls of the room around him only echoed back everything he said into his ears.
For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by faint droplets of water falling into a bucket from a leaking pipe above. The old sign on the wall behind the manager read: Duckburg Sanitation Department. The office was unimpressive, to say the least, proven by the faint smell of mold and the flicker of a dying fluorescent bulb overhead that only added to the dreariness.
The hiring manager sighed before finally saying with the calm indifference of someone used to rejection. "I'm sorry, Mr. Duck. Your vocal challenges might cause miscommunication problems among our workers. We can't risk that, especially in a field like this."
It wasn't the first time Donald was rejected because of his voice, and it wouldn't be the last. But this time, it sounded like an insult.
"Phooey on communication! You don't even need to talk for this job! I'm strong, I'm willing to work hard, why isn't that enough?" His voice cracked in desperation, mixed with confusion and anger.
The manager raised an eyebrow, and looking at her eyes, it seemed like she would use Donald's angry voice to further strengthen her reason for this rejection. She spoke again, her tone growing colder. "And now we're seeing anger management issues. We can't have workers putting themselves or others in danger. Thank you for your time, Mr. Duck. That will be all."
And just like that, the manager immediately turned her attention to the stack of papers on her desk, as if Donald had already disappeared.
For a moment, he froze in his chair, clenching his fists he put on the armrest. He felt his blood boiling with immeasurable pressure, seeking any hole to vent. He gritted his teeth, trying his best to hold words he didn't want to come out of his beak. Fortunately, he managed to defeat that burning desire. A rational side of his brain told him that it was no use to do anything other than leave this place as soon as possible. With a heavy sigh, Donald turned and walked toward the door. He didn't even look back or say a word. If she didn't care, why should he?
After getting out of that unpleasant place, Donald walked down what once was a sidewalk. It was technically still a sidewalk, just with cracks and uneven pavement that sometimes made him trip along the way. The world around him was no better. The sky was gray, even on the clearest day Duckburg could experience. Sunlight was hardly able to penetrate through the thick haze of pollution emitted by nearby factories and power plants. A tattered billboard in front showed an image of solar panels and wind turbines promised by the government to reduce the haze and move toward cleaner energy sources. None of them ever built after they found a new untapped oil reserve in the Pacific and instead used the entire budget to build dozens of oil platforms.
He lightly kicked a gravel down the street, watching it bounce and spin before it stopped, only to be kicked again for his own amusement. Being rejected in an interview wasn't enough, so the universe decided to ruin his little fun and rub salt in his wound, as it always did. Behind him, a low hum of a truck engine getting louder each second. Without any warning, its tire splashed filthy water from a rain-filled pothole all over him. The best reaction he could do was just to stand frozen and glare at the vehicle as it disappeared around the corner. He could say some bad words if he wanted to, but he didn't. The interview had already drained a lot of his remaining energy for the day.
With water dripping from his entire body, he continued his journey home. Briefly looking toward the right, he could see abandoned storefronts on the opposite side of the road. Shattered windows and graffiti-covered walls indicate just how long it must have been since the last time people had ever taken care of that place. The majority of buildings in the town were no different, with the only distinction being the amount of the government's propaganda posters stuck on the walls, talking about the "better world" and their ongoing attempt to make it happen. Donald had always seen that as rubbish and hopeless, especially when he heard and saw how many failures they had made in the past himself. The posters made him replaying one of the memories in his head.
He used to have a high-spirited and adventurous sister. An aviator, mechanical engineer, and spacefarer, Della Duck. She was born to fly, exploring every corner of the globe to face every possibility and new challenge ahead. Fear was never something she allowed to hold her back. One day, when she flew higher than she had ever been before, the dark deep space was beckoning her to come closer. Since that moment, being a space explorer became her new dream.
After years of hard work and dedication, her dream came true. She was chosen as a crew member of Elpis, an international private spaceflight program to terraform the surface of Mars.
"Are you sure about this?" Donald asked his only sister. His concerned voice showed that he wasn't ready to be left alone. "I know it's what you've always dreamed of, but... do you really have to go?"
"Don," Della started. "This isn't about me. There was snow in July last year. And this?" She took a newspaper and gestured to the headline: WE ARE DOOMED: LONG DROUGHT AROUND THE WORLD CAUSING CROPS TO FAIL AGAIN! "Not to mention every resource is depleting," she added. "We can't keep living like this, Don. Someone has to do something."
Donald was well aware of the earth's dire state, but even with that, letting his sister go felt harder than he could've imagined. His eyes glanced at the three eggs placed in an incubator. Noticing this, Della reached both of Donald's hands.
"And that's why I must do this. To sustain life. To give them a better home. And to see smiles we rarely see in this generation."
Donald couldn't say anything at the time, and he decided to close his eyes and take a deep breath. As he did that, Della wrapped him in a long, warm hug. Though the heaviness in his chest didn't fully vanish, it gave him a small sense of comfort.
"You're strong, I believe in that. Please take care of them," Della said as she let go of the hug and stared Donald in the eye. "Keep looking above, because someday I'll miss you and the kids so much that you will see me coming from the sky at an unprecedented speed! Might throw a Martian rock if you didn't get out of your houseboat that day!"
Donald chuckled in response. It was the last time he met Della face to face, and it was one of the most vivid moments he couldn't forget.
The sharp blare of a horn from the car in front snapped him back to the present, prompting him to jump aside immediately. He blinked in confusion at the passing car, as if it had materialized out of nowhere. He didn't know how long he had been lost in thought, but the familiar scent that reached his nose told him it had been long enough. Looking to the left, he could see the sandy beach, covered in thousands of dead fish and seaweed washed ashore by the tides. Apparently, the ocean wasn't that friendly either in this world, but he was used to that. Moving his gaze more to the front, he could spot the only boat on the pier, his own houseboat. He could even see smoke coming out from the inside, the unusual one, which meant only one thing. He had no idea what his nephews were doing this time, but he demanded an answer. He immediately quickened his pace toward his home.