The Day the Pigeons Rose Up
The word “ordinary” was invented for days like this.
The pigeons milled around as usual, bobbing their heads and
pecking at crumbs dropped by the throngs of commuters, who paid them no
mind. Why would they? But had someone actually bothered to, and
watched long enough, they would have seen the looks pass between them. A slight, almost imperceptible nod from one
bird that said “I know; and I am ready” that would be returned by another nod that
said “Yes brother, it is almost time.”
No one knows who gave the signal, or how they all picked up
on it at once. But one minute they were
a docile and peaceful pack of feathered monks, and the next they became a
rabid, bloodlusting, avian army.
The skies darkened and the air was filled with the
high-pitched shrieks of pigeon war-cries.
The swarm was everywhere, lunging this way and that, diving at anything
that moved. Hats were stolen, scarves
were torn, faces were pecked. The
initial shock left the people speechless and inert, but it took less than a few
seconds for the animal instinct of “attack” to ring out through each individual
cortex and the crowd’s collective conscious, and a flight of a different kind
began on the ground in earnest. People
ran screaming into the streets and cars ran blaring onto the sidewalks. Hands went up to shield faces, which just
made everyone even blinder and crash headlong into posts, buildings, and each
other.
100 birds slashed at the windshield of a taxi cab. As they pecked the glass, they stared at the
horrified, helpless driver with looks that all said the same thing: “Come get
some.” Another flock enveloped a
newsstand as the owner tried in vain to close the shutters.
Eventually, the panicking mob found safety inside buildings, and
the streets belonged to the pigeons! A
new, triumphant cry went up from the rooftops, statues, and park benches and
echoed through the city. A group of the
elders met atop city hall to talk strategy, while almost everyone else simply
flew and basked in the glory of victory and empty streets.
The victory proved to be short-lived, however. A distressful cry was heard over by the
sporting goods store, as a dozen people emerged with football helmets, hockey gloves, and
tennis rackets.
An hour later, all the pigeons went back to pecking at
garbage and pooping on statues.
Off in the distance, two seagulls perched on a gargoyle had
watched the entire scene unfold. The one
looked at the other as if to say “what the hell was all that about?” The
other gull just shrugged, and flew off.
