Wordcount :: ~306
Notes :: It's not all grammatically correct, but this is probably the deepest extended metaphor I've ever considered. Just about every word stands for something else. But I'll let you think about it on your own.
In every stage of his life, he longed to soar as high as those he admired. He'd give anything, fly a million miles to catch up to them and, just once, be considered worthwhile in their eyes.
But his wings mocked him. His attributes were always less than a hair's breadth away from what he needed. But still he kept trying. He all but threw himself off of the highest glacier to prove that he was just like them; that he could soar if he really tried!
But he always fell. Plunging into the icy depths to contemplate his worth at the bottom of the indigo sea for a while, only to appear back on land to dry off and try again the next day.
His vision was cursed to see everything in black and blue and white; the occasional gold or smoky gray depending on the other sea life that passed by on wing or fin. What he really liked was green, the ethereal teal patterns of the ocean grass at the water's base. The hue was mesmerizing. It was a shame he couldn't enjoy purple, though everyone that stayed long enough to look in his eyes could.
His feet could never carry him fast enough to prevent the gulls from taking his treasures, his pebbles. The pebbles he needed to build a nest and settle down with a single, loving mate. He could have always slid across the ivory expanse on his front, but he'd had enough torment from the surrounding clan for the things he did - even if they were sliding about in the exact same way. So he lost his pebbles, watching silently as the gulls stole them away with a coarse, cackling cry until his neck hurt.
He often longed to be something else. Something powerful, something beautiful.
But he was just a penguin.