Madagascar by Lesley Whyte

There once was a lonely penguin. He lived in the zoo in Central Park, along with 64 others. There were King and Chinstrap penguins, and even a few Gentoo. He was the only Rockhopper. His mate had died when they were integrated into the exhibit, and so he had been alone ever since. Children would come and peer at him through the glass. They'd look at all the penguins, squawking with delight, but then they'd see him. They'd see the wild tufts of yellow hair sprouting from his head and his bright orange eyes.

"What's wrong with that one?" they'd ask. He was different. Their parents would shush them and point at the other penguins, pointing out the baby Gentoos. There were so many baby Gentoos.

The lonely penguin just kept swimming around the tank, dreaming of escape. Dreaming of a friend, but at the same time terrified of the prospect. His mate had not survived entering the tank, and he was afraid others might die. He tried to embrace the loneliness, but it was too hard. He died not long after, with no apparent cause, but the other penguins understood. 

The lonely Rockhopper had died of a broken heart.