THE TRUE STORY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

There once was an ugly duckling, but unlike any other ugly-duckling story that may have been circulated, or which may sound familiar as its commonplace words sweep over your eager ears, there was, in this particular case, no hint of mistreatment. The other ducks neither teased this particular ugly duckling, nor did they abuse him in any way. They were all very polite and respectful. This was not because they had superior upbringing and morals. Rather, it was because the ugly duckling was so ugly, that no one could bring themselves to mock him. The simple truth was that he was far too ugly for mocking. His severe ugliness both frightened the others while also engendering compassion on the part of the other ducks. They decided among themselves to politely ignore him in the same manner that good-natured travelers ignore the hungry homeless who pile up in subway corners, or the way pedestrians politely ignore those who pass by in the opposite direction�"with a smile and a “Good day to you!” or a “God bless you,” but never stopping, never looking, never really acknowledging that the other is anyone or anything other than a piece of fluff in the wind, or a butterfly scurrying by.

The other ducklings tried to be as considerate as they possibly could, hoping to never remind the ugly duckling �" at least not with their words �" of his ugliness. Yet, as he matured, he found that he could read through their thin expressions like poorly written messages in fortune-cookies. It was never the words they said, but always the words they refused to say that constantly reminded him of his ugliness. 

He was ugly. He knew it! He knew it not only because of the behavior of the other ducks, but because he had eyes. He was reminded of the simple fact of his ugliness as he perennially skated upon his own reflection. He was born ugly, not blind.

One day the ugly duckling heard of another ugly duckling, the more famous one, who, as it was later discovered, was not an ugly duckling after all, but a beautiful swan. Something like hope swelled within his ugly-duckling breast. ‘Maybe I am also a swan,” he hoped to himself. As he hoped, he allowed himself to dream, “Maybe one day I will find that I am no longer ugly. In fact, I will find that I was never ugly at all. It was just that others have been gauging my beauty, or the subsequent lack thereof, by employing the wrong paradigm.” For a time, his reflection did not seem to be so unbearable as he expected that one day his ugliness would prove itself to be a misunderstanding. 

Time passed, as it so often does, and the ugly duckling grew into adulthood, discovering, ever so slowly, that he was not a swan after all. He had always been, and always will be a duck. The ugly duckling had grown into an ugly duck. He realized that his hope of being a swan was vapid and absurd. The story only made sense if the one telling, or hearing, the story was not a duck. A duck knows what a baby duck looks like. No duck would ever confuse a duckling with a swan. It would take some sort of witless creature like a human to make such a mistake.

He silently cursed his reflection as he strolled over the lake’s surface. He coveted blindness. He yearned for hunters to stumble upon him on chilly autumn mornings, but he knew he was not the type of duck that hunters hoped to find, or even spoke of, while sipping hot-chocolate laced with bourbon. He was ugly, and he had no hope of ever being liberated from this condition.

Then one day, the ugly duck once more stumbled upon hope. The most beautiful of all the ducks, the prom-queen of ducks, who had consistently been voted Miss Flock, and even Miss Pond on one occasion, told him that appearances don’t really matter, it was what is on the inside that counts. She confessed that she did not care what a duck looks like, she only cared that he was honest and intelligent, possessing charm and a good sense of humor. The ugly duck believed the beauty-queen duck. After all, certainly she would know about what constitutes true beauty. By her standards he was one of the finest of all ducks. He was intelligent. He was funny. He even possessed a certain charm. He was a good duck. He once more hopefully glided upon the pond, attempting to live as if he were not so terribly ugly. Whenever he was confronted by his hideous reflection, he simply comforted himself by the fact that the water’s surface could never reflect his inner-beauty. The lake could only display that his bill was strangely oversized and misshapen, but it could never display his keen intellect. The pond could only show him that his feathers were arranged in an unattractive pattern, but it could never show him his sharp wit. The pond could only expose that his body possessed a decidedly unducklike form, it could never reveal to him, or to others, that he possessed more inner-beauty than any other duck this side of migration. The pond was incapable or showing him what was truly important to the other ducks. It could not mirror is humor or his charm. It could not show him his good-natured soul. He may have been the most freakishly ugly duck on the outside, but on the inside, where it really mattered, he was the Johnny Depp of ducks. The pond was incapable of truth. It could only whisper to him of externals and falsehoods.

This hope also abandoned him with the passing of time. He began to notice that all of the female ducks, although they said that humor and intellect and charm were what truly mattered, only swam with those who were often very ugly on the inside. He noticed that if a duck were attractive on the outside, they could be as ugly as they desired on the inside and it did not matter to the other ducks. He then realized that it was only the really attractive ducks who passed along the information that it is what’s on the inside that counts. “What’s on the inside doesn’t matter,” the ugly duck concluded. “It’s just another lie! Life is nothing but a lie! I am not a swan, and I am not a duck! I am just ugly!”

“You’re wrong,” the other ducks attempted to convince him. But he could not be assuaged.

“I see it now,” he said. “Externals are everything! Extolling the virtues of internals is what beautiful ducks tell ugly ducks so that they don’t feel so ugly. But it’s a lie! If only I were not so damned intelligent, then I’d might fool myself into believing the lie, and find some sense of happiness.”

From that day onward, in spite of the other ducks’ pretenses, he would never allow himself to be convinced of a lie. He never again told a joke, or offered a witty comment. He never again displayed anything that could be misconstrued as charm. He never again solved a cryptogram, a crossword puzzle, or did anything else that could be interpreted as intelligent or clever. He merely existed on a pond, surrounded by deferential ducks and ugly reflections.

Outwardly he never allowed one tear to fall, but inwardly he never ceased to cry. His heart was so broken that he could hardly paddle his little, duck feet. “It is only in fairytales,” he would confess to himself when no other ducks were present, “that ugly ducklings grow up to be beautiful swans, and kissed frogs are transformed into handsome princes. Wishes made on falling stars never do come true. Wishing only breeds despair. Life, like me, is ugly, and the only good thing that I can say about it is that it ends.”

The ugly duck continued to exist as the years passed him by. He existed �" but just barely. In the autumn he flew in the back of the flock so the other ducks would never have to look at him. In the spring he tried to ignore the newly-born ducklings that paddled by him on the pond. He faked a duck smile at the happy couples who said, “Hello” as they passed. And in those overly crushing moments, when he could not endure the pain, he simply thrust his head under the water’s surface, pretending to catch a fish. When he once more lifted his head, the other ducks could not tell if it was pond water or tears that drained from his eyes.

THE END

Reviews

That was deep for being a remake of a kids classic but very true. ( sounds like my highschool.) I do like it though. It shows a lesson that too many other people forget when they don't stop to think of someone elses circumstances or feelings. The words can be there but if they are faking interest thats what shows. I think its a great lesson and you put a lot of though into it.