"I told you it's fourteen minutes, Louie. Fourteen! Not forty!" Huey said to his youngest brother, showing four of his fingers to emphasize his words.

"You know what? Next time you set the timer yourself! How am I supposed to know what you're saying if it was just mumble and nonsense?!" the duck in the green hoodie, who misheard what his brother said, answered.

Dewey, the middle brother who used his hands to fan the burnt fish that now looked no different than a large chunk of coal, tried to calm them down. "Guys, it's not the time to argue! We better clean this mess fast or…"

SLAM!

Dewey didn't even get a chance to finish his words before a sound interrupted him. It wasn't the sound of a door being shut violently, but rather someone's fist punching the kitchen's wooden wall, which subsequently made the entire houseboat creak briefly.

"Oi! What do you kids think you're doing?!"

The three of them froze and looked at where the voice came from. In the doorway, Donald stood there, with the usual sharp glare when his nephews were making a mess. He glanced at the beeping oven and could see the thick, black smoke he had seen earlier.

Finally, one of the boys spoke, the one with the red hat on top of his head. "We can explain. We're just trying to make dinner."

"Dinner? At two PM?" Donald asked as he walked to check the burnt and coal-smelled fish in the tray. "With this remains of a campfire?"

It was just a single fish and a small one, and Donald didn't wonder why it was easily burnt. Huey tried to explain further. "We were just experimenting to make it ourselves, but it was Louie who forgot the timer," he said, pointing to his younger brother.

"Hey!" Louie said.

Donald could only facepalm and sigh. He then checked the fridge, which was nothing but cold air flowing from the inside. Now he realized why the boys tried to make the food, they were run out of government rations. He noticed a plastic bag on the table nearby with four rotten fish inside.

"You guys pick these yourselves?" Donald asked, lifting the plastic bag.

The three nephews nodded.

"These were already gone for days, do you want to end up in the hospital?" he asked.

Bringing two new plastic bags with him, he walked out of the kitchen. "I'll go to the beach to get the fresher one myself, you guys stay here and clean up all this mess! I don't want to see a single speck of ash when I get back!"

"Yes, Uncle Donald," the boys said in unison.

Without hesitation, the three grabbed rags and set to work, scrubbing the dirty tray and oven.

The beach was a literal graveyard for some species of marine life, stretching across the entire shoreline. Most were fish and seaweed, with shells and coral fragments occasionally spotted. The stench of rot and swarms of flies greeted anyone brave enough to step onto the shoreline. It was the reason the pier became nearly deserted, as only a few could bear it. Donald and his three nephews, however, had no choice but to endure all of that every day.

Ever since the government strictly limited food distribution five years ago to make sure the supplies were sufficient, Donald always scavenged the remnants of life from the beach to find something edible when he ran out of rations, which was always happening the day before the new supply came, like today.

With a thin wooden stick and plastic bags he carried, he scanned the beach. He spotted a cluster of dark shapes in the distance, and he immediately approached it. Sure enough, it was fish. No flies were crowding it, so he thought it was still fresh. But, as he poked the fish with the stick, its flesh easily crumbled, meaning it had been lying there long enough. He sighed and walked away, moving closer to the water.

Fortunately, he knew the patterns. Usually, freshly dead fish will be carried to the beach when the tide is high and will be left behind when the tide has receded. Finally, after a few minutes of searching, Donald found one fish that was actually fresh, its scales still slick and glistening. He ran to it and double-checked it by sniffing and inspecting the entire body before putting it in the plastic bag.

The search continued and repeated for hours until he thought it was enough. It was not only fish that he searched for, but also seaweed. He salvaged a few greenish strands into a separate bag. The sun was nearing the horizon by the time Donald thought everything was enough. The thick haze made the sky look redder than it should've been. Adjusting the two bags which were now full of fish and seaweed, he began the long walk back to his houseboat.

A few hours had passed since. The sky had turned pitch-black. No clouds, moon or even stars were visible. On the pier, Donald's houseboat was the only source of light in the cold and silence of the night. Inside, in the kitchen, he placed the cooked fish and boiled seaweed he had scavenged earlier on the table. He called to his nephews, who were watching television in the living room.

"Dinner's ready, boys!"

He could hear the sound of the television shut off, and not long after, one by one, the three ducklings emerged and sat in their usual place. Their expressions seemed absent and they just picked and ate what Donald had already served. It wasn't that they didn't like the meal or anything, but simply because the rotten smell from the beach that reached the houseboat reduced their appetite, and they weren't as experienced as Donald when it came to dealing with it.

For a while, the clinking of utensils against the plate was the only sound filling the room. Huey noticed this and tried to start a conversation to lighten the atmosphere.

"So… uh… how's the job interview, Uncle Donald?"

Donald's beak was opened wide at the time, ready to bite the fish in the fork, which was only just an inch away. He froze briefly, still focusing on what was on his plate.

"Not yet," he answered with a low voice. He didn't even dare to look at Huey, there was a certain feeling in his chest that seemed to lock his eyes from moving.

"Did they bring up your voice again? Or your temper? Cause if yes, I'm getting more and more sure this world is just a bunch of jerks!" Dewey said.

"Yeah, that's what happened," Donald answered.

"Oh boy, how long do we have to live like this?" Louie groaned and slumped in his chair.

Silence.

Not a single word came from anyone's beak after they heard what Louie said. The triplets exchanged glances, unsure what to do. Meanwhile, Donald just sat there with hunched shoulders, chewing the fish slowly and still looking down at the plate. A flash of memories from past failures that still lingered in his mind suddenly flooded. He frowned and his grip on the fork tightened. He hated that his nephews had to ask such questions at their age. He hated that he didn't have an answer.

Huey glanced at Donald briefly and realized he picked the wrong topic at the wrong time. Clearing his throat softly, he tried his best to fix his mistake.

"Um, guys, let's just finish our dinner. Uncle Donald had a rough time today, we better not bother him further."

And so, the dinner continued as before, with only silence except the clink of utensils under the dim and flickering bulb. Soon, they finished, and the boys headed back to the living room to watch any entertainment they could find on television. It was not every time there was a good broadcast. In the daytime, most of it was just the government's endless nonsense.

Donald let out a long sigh as he placed the dirty plates on the sink. He had mixed feelings. On one hand, he felt thankful for not starving today. On the other hand, he felt Louie's words haunted him. He didn't know how long they had to live like this, but as long as he could, he would keep the boys safe. Staring at the darkness outside from the kitchen's window, he spoke. His voice sounded almost like a whisper.

"Lord, give me strength."