100 Words a Day 53

The penguin’s name was Perky. Instead of a forward-pointing beak, Perky had an upward-pointing one that was losing its yellow coloring and beginning to show the stitching underneath. His wings hung unevenly at his sides; one had almost been torn off and hadn’t been sewn back on properly. He never could use it the same. A white film had begun to obscure the black of eyes, blinding him. He was an old penguin, but he measured his age not in years. Rather he measured it in things like afternoon naps, walks in the park, and trips to the candy shop.