The Day the Pigeons Rose Up

In what could not possibly be more of a tonal u-turn from my last post, I've written a (very) short and incredibly inane story.  Here it is:

 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.