Tension was mounting on the fence: feathers twitched, beaks pecked and eyes flickered as expectant, excitable pigeons gazed skywards. As dawn broke over the city, their inspiration was on his way; their hope for a different, better life. Suddenly a huge shadow blocked the sun’s warming rays: a dark, majestic form in the shape of a two winged God. Eyes stared, focused as he glided gently onto the vacant park bench. One or two of the waiting pigeons fled: it was too much, too awe inspiring. They simply weren’t ready for this.
‘Hello brothers and sisters. I am honoured to be in your presence,’ began the glorious beast. His golden winged majesty had flown down overnight from the Highland glens to be here today. For this moment.
‘You are more than you are. There is more to your world than the city streets. More than tourists and handfuls of tasteless grain. There is freedom, pray, hills, sea. There is a world. Join us!’
The assembled throng of the “Urban Pigeons For Change” faction cooed in unified agreement. One of their number remained impassive. Below his feathers a concealed wire recorded the day’s events. A tiny camera capturing those in attendance.
Back at Trafalgar Square the ruling pigeon Junta scowled, as the faces and voices of those plotting escape played across their screens. A press of a button was all it took.
Cats, feathers, blood, fleeing pigeons. The revolution quelled for another day; but for how much longer?
These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.