Cracker Jack

The story of how Woody the Pigeon became an unlikely millionaire. Just kidding.

“For the love of bread, will you stop jabbing me on the butt?!” Wilburg’s voice rivalled the pounding rain. Little eyes darted curiously, finally landing on a soaked and shivering Woody. Embarrassed, he withdrew his protruding beak from Wilburg’s ruffled feathers. Lowering his head, he muttered to no one in particular, “There is no space,”

The array of sheltering pigeons shuffled awkwardly, barely enough room to manoeuvre more than a tail shake. An inch away, water trickled tirelessly from edges of the roof. Every drop on their feather lowered the temperature. The relentless wind slapped against the concrete, contributing further to their shivers. The storm would go on for weeks.

“Why do you always do that?” Wilma shot an accusatory tone. The other pigeons, weary from the cold, turned sheepishly to the unfolding commotion. Woody sunk in, humiliated and wishing the sky would swallow him up that very moment.

“You’re such a nuisance, Woody. You’re taking too much space!” Wilma hissed. She shook a wing as to rinse herself as tiny droplets landed on Woody’s already soaked feathers.

“Yeah, Woody, why don’t you go elsewhere!” Wikim echoed.

“Such a nuisance,” Wilma repeated. Her neck twirled backwards to wipe a droplet from her eyelid. Woody found himself stared at. The exhaustion had turned to anger, and he could feel their anger misdirecting towards him. It was not his fault it was raining like this. It wasn’t his fault the roof was too cramp to accommodate the exploding population of pigeons.

“You should just go away!” Wikim roared. Soon, peeps of abuse came snowballing at him. “You’re just a waste of space!” “You’re eating up our food!” “You’re ugly!” Woody sighed. If he blocked out the verbal assault, perhaps, they will fade in time. He was used to this kind of bullying. Instead of minding the angsts tirade, if he focused on keeping warm… it would help…

Suddenly, a huge knock brought him back to reality. The impact of the hit sent him spiralling into the air. He would never know what happened. In shock, he flapped his wings desperately to gain control of the fall. His wet feathers fluttered aimlessly. Summoning what little energy left in his tiny body, his muscles tore from the inertia and into flight mode. A swift turn avoided a glass window, but the wind was too strong. It swept him along with its fury, lumps of rain pounding onto his beaten body, suppressing every attempt to manoeuvre his flight.

“Aarrrgghhh!!” Woody’s whimper drowned by the throes of thunder. The wind blasted him further and further into the horizon. Soon, he lost sight of the roof shelter. He found himself floating, lifted further by the hurricane, passing familiar buildings and blown from street to street. He took a calculated peek down, Whisk Avenue, that’s where he had tasted his first cinnamon roll! A kind stranger had thrown a piece of pastry towards his direction, and since he was closer to the bread, he got a taste of it before the rest swooped in and stole it from him. It was glorious food, nonetheless!

Still the wind carried him further into the road. With what little strength, he managed to meander through the trees to avoid hitting the loosened branches.

Oh the state of the trees! Their beaten limbs hanged precariously by a stretch of bark, leaves torn from their grip, trunks where once-magnificent posture now expressing defeat. The storm had no mercy. The hurricane lashed everything in its wake. The torrential wind continued hurling Woody through the air, as he flapped his wings for little control.

This is it, he thought. This is how his short life will end.

In an instant he was thrown onto small branch of a tree. The wind had jerked in its momentum. He could feel a change of direction. His limped body landed on the muddy ground with a thud, as splashes of water burst from his arrival.

Oh how his body hurt! His head throbbed violently, the vision fading with every breath. Breathing was a challenge. Rain continued to pound on his defeated frame. He could feel the mud water rising with every raindrop. Tried as he might, he could not feel his body. Every muscle failed to move. He lay helpless as still as a brick. Should he give up now?

The thought of that one cinnamon roll kept him going. How nice would it be to have another bite? His mind drifted.

Thoughts of his childhood whizzed past. The moment he saw the world as his beak poked through the eggshell, his lithe body wriggling out into his parents’ nest. The first time he saw his sibling, somehow much bigger and stronger than he was, sitting on the same nest. He found out later that his brother had hatched a few days before him, explaining why he was stronger and healthier. His parents had lamented that he was a hopeless case. They had wanted to destroy  his egg thinking it was infertile but out he popped at the very last minute! He was weaker and harder to raise, they had said.

Still he persevered. Feeding time was the worst. His parents clearly preferred his older brother, feeding him first. With the leftover crop milk that his brother couldn’t finish, they fed him, barely enough for him to survive. Yet, he persevered. His love for life persisted. He was determined to fledge, he was determine to learn to eat independently, so that he no longer had to rely on his parent’s crop milk. He knew they were reluctant to feed him. He was sorry for his failure and didn’t want to burden them.

The day he learnt to fly was the happiest day of his life. He flapped his wings and took off. He had watched his parents flew from the nest every morning at day break and return at nightfall. He observed their movements and successfully mimicked them. It was a shock to all when he managed to fledge before his stronger, older brother. Little did he realized, his mites infestation was becoming worse, and fearing it would affect his much beloved brother, his parents decided it was time to kick him out since he could fly, despite his ignorance of the wilderness.

But still, he survived. He had lived to this day hadn’t he? Despite all odds, he was here. He had scraped whatever food he could find and had lived. The cold seeped into every pore of his skin. His head continued throbbing. He felt his life ebbing away.

Perhaps, he had lived enough until today. This was his time to go. He struggled. But no! He wanted another bite of that cinnamon roll!

“Oh my! What’s this?” a boot carefully sidestepped away from the mud, yet splashes still rippled across the pool. A giant knee bent as a woman lowered herself towards him. He gasped for air and struggled, summoning every energy to escape. This giant was going to eat me! Help!

Still he couldn’t move. He tried forcing an eye open. He looked at her. Alarmingly, he found himself being lifted. The pain surged through his body. Yet, the lift was gentle. Gentle enough not to aggravate the pain any further.

The rain had stopped falling around him. His tiny eye looked around. He was sheltered by a huge canopy of fabric. A pink umbrella circled around him. His wandering eye caught her stare. Her grey eyes caressed him with such loving grace, he felt a little awkward. Wait, was that a smile? Do giants smile before they eat helpless pigeons?

“Don’t worry little one. We’ll get you out of here, hang on in there. You’re going to be okay,” she placed him gently on extended knee before wrapping him up with a handkerchief. Expertly cuddling him in one arm, and balancing the umbrella in another, she rose from the muddy ground, lifting him along.

Soon he found himself travelling with this strange human. From the hollowness of the subway to the persistent walk from street to street, he drifted into slumber and back again. The dizziness and extreme exhaustion caused his total submission. Though fearful for his safety, he attempted no escape.

At last they arrived in what looked like her apartment. Entering the automated front gate, his eyes followed the route up the spiral staircase and finally, at her door. The room read “E311”. He blacked out.

Author's Note

Sorry it's a bit lengthy! Initially written for the a Paris Book Prize, plans for continuation have been shelved. But do let me know your views on it.

Reviews

[S. K. Humble]

Thanks for commenting on my book! I think you're a very talented, creative writer and I found your stuff to be quite refreshing! :) It's not the everyday riff-raff we're used to, you know? Good job! :)

[Michael Bujtas]

I like how the character of the story is pigeon, where were you going to go with this? It's very interesting to see the world through a bird's perspective, I would have loved it if you had offered an outside view on human activities after Woody was rescued by the woman at the end. It's a shame you're not continuing it, I thought it was a fun read.