The writer passes by an arctic pond where a lone penguin stands beside the water.

*****

I am Penguin. 

I used to dance.  The dance of life, in frigid darkness: shuffle and hop, shuffle and hop.  Continuous movement in a troupe of hundreds, each fellow having a place, a rhythm, a beauty.  My dance is done now.

I used to swim.  The swim of freedom, in icy ink: dart and glide, dart and glide.  Aquatic acrobatics in solitary performance, each movement expressing power, agility, joy.  My swim is done now.

I used to love.  The love of hope, in warm hearts: flutter and thump, flutter and thump.  A perfect duet, each thought finding its complement, its peace, its mate.  My love is gone now.

And yet, I remain.  I am Penguin still.

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Author guidance for This story

Join me in writing some monologues from the minds of the animals in the menagerie. Give them character. Practice the art of personification.

updated Nov 12 '08 by TheRiverTalker