White Wash

            Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pigeon flying my way. “What the hell?” I heard myself ask no one in particular. I wasn’t supposed to get a homing pigeon for at least another week and a half, and this wasn’t an area where pigeons simply found themselves wandering into sight of anything. They tended to be shot, unless I warned everyone that a pigeon was coming about a day in advance. People around here really aren’t big fans of pigeons; I never got around to asking why.

            “What happened, Wallace?” Tylar asked as he ran in from the room behind the observation room I was in. I wasn’t as quiet as I thought I was, this could be bad.

            “Oh, nothing, Tylar. Don’t worry about it.” I scratched my head and sighed, hoping to convey some sort of weariness or disinterest in whatever might have happened without hinting at what actually occurred. Please don’t ask me what you’re about to ask me. We don’t have to do this, I thought to myself, silently this time.

            “Come off it, Wallace! Something happened, and I want to know what’s going on. I was bored to tears just a minute ago, and now you’re saying you get surprised about nothing going on in this room, too? Bullshit.” Tylar had that look in his eye. He thought he was playing Sherlock Holmes again; all that was missing was a tobacco pipe. Lord help us if he ever got his hands on a pipe like that; we’d never see the end of “Detective” Tylar.  

            “Like I said, it’s nothing.” Then an idea struck me. Maybe I could turn this around, and change his reaction before he even had time to react. “It’s just that… I saw the coolest thing just now. I’m not sure exactly what it is. You want to take a look? It’s a bird, I know that much. I’m thinking it’s one of those finches, you know? But I’m not sure.” I was hoping to beat hell that Tylar didn’t know a pigeon from a finch. As far as I knew, he was never into bird identification.

            Tylar meandered up to the porch, stood beside me, and cast his imperial gaze upon the landscape, hoping to catch sight of this mysterious flying thing.  He had come to the rescue, and was certain the problem would solve itself soon enough now that he was on the case. But at that moment, the horizon darkened and seemed to move towards us. Neither of us could see exactly what was going on, but we knew we were in for a terrible reckoning if we stayed on the porch any longer. As the things from the horizon charged closer, I frantically searched for my binoculars. Tylar ran to sound the severe weather alert –the only kind of alarm we allowed to be under his supervision- and soon everyone would wonder why the hell thunder sounded so much like the flapping of wings. I found my binoculars, and looked towards the ominous mass heading towards the town. I was horrified when I discovered that untold numbers of pigeons were swarming the city from afar. Where had they all come from? Why were they acting like this? How had they learned militaristic flight formations, and how in the world could they have fashioned those tiny green helmets that the albino pigeons wore? My first guess was that the helmets were a sign of the albino pigeons’ leading positions in the attack, and I was quickly proved correct. They led strafing runs across the city until every square inch of the poor place was covered in pigeon waste. Within minutes, everything had been turned white. So terribly, awfully, revoltingly white.

The pigeons had only begun, despite whatever I may have thought after that. After the fecal shower, the pigeons flew into the people’s homes, and took all of the food they could find, leaving us with nothing. This is why I hate pigeons today.