A Pigeon’s Revenge

AKA The Peckoning…

Feb 20, 2025

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New Subscribers: Welcome to The Giggler! We’re on a never-ending quest for amusement and unadulterated fun here. Sometimes, my newsletters contain updates from my life as a voice actress and filmmaker; other times, it’s all about my adventures in learning to draw. Today is a ridiculous short story to make you chuckle. Thank you for being here!

Hey, Gigglers!

I wrote a super silly short story with a level of absurdity that is sure to make you chuckle. Enjoy!

*Inspired by a true story…

I generated this image in ChatGPT and then had KlingAI animate it. I think it turned out insanely good!

A Pigeon’s Revenge

The sun dips low on the horizon, painting the sky in fiery pink, orange, and purple hues. A couple lounges on a sandy beach, the distant crash of waves punctuated by the cooing of pigeons. The wife, relaxed, sips a cocktail while the husband swats irritably at the growing flock of pigeons inching closer.

"Seriously, these things are out of control," the husband mutters.

"They're just pigeons," the wife replies, not looking up.

One pigeon waddles too close, tilting its head and eyeing a forgotten chip near the husband's foot. His face tightens. He stands abruptly, grabbing a stick from the tidewrack.

The wife raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Before she can stop him, the husband hurls the stick with unnecessary force. It arcs through the air and hits the pigeon squarely. The bird lets out a panicked squawk, wings flapping erratically as it scrambles away, limping.

"What the hell?!" the wife snaps. "You just attacked an animal!"

"These pigeons need to learn not to bother people on the beach," the husband replies nonchalantly.

His wife groans. "What is one pigeon going to do? You've got an entire parade of tourists feeding them fries! Teaching one pigeon 'a lesson' isn't going to change anything."

The husband shrugs. "If one pigeon learns, maybe it'll spread the word."

She rolls her eyes yet can't help but let out a reluctant chuckle. She frowns at the poor pigeon hobbling away.

Another ChatGPT-generated image! So cool.

🐦 The injured pigeon limps through a small crack in the wall of a crumbling seaside building. Inside, his wife, a plump pigeon wearing a small red ribbon, scolds their children for flapping too hard near the furniture. She looks up and gasps.

"Oh dear! Gerald, what happened?! Are you alright?"

But Gerald doesn't answer. He trudges past her, his thoughts heavy. He enters a small, dimly lit office—a shoebox filled with scraps of paper and a single feather quill. He slumps into his chair, pulls out his diary, and begins to write:

"Should this be the last thing I ever write, let it be known to my kin: beware People Beach. The humans are violent and merciless, and even the most cautious pigeons are not safe."

He sets down the quill with trembling wings. A single tear falls onto the page as Gerald droops his head. He lets out a deep sigh, then... silence.

🐦 Pigeons gather in a solemn circle, cooing softly. Gerald's lifeless body lies atop a platform made of twigs and trash, his diary clutched in his cold, dead wing.

His eldest son, a scrappy pigeon with a scar over one eye, kneels by the body. "Father!" he cries, flapping his wings in anguish. Stray feathers gust out, accentuating his distress.

The other pigeons gently pull him back, murmuring condolences. As they do, the son notices his father's diary. He pulls it free and begins reading. His eyes widen as he absorbs his father's final words. The coos around him fade to silence as his anger builds.

The son lifts his head, eyes blazing. "We will avenge him," he declares, his words dripping with resolve. "We will make them pay."

🐦 The beach is eerily quiet the next day. The couple from before sits under a striped beach umbrella. The husband stretches out, clearly at ease.

"Wow, there's hardly any pidgins today," the wife observes.

"Hey, you're right," he agrees, sitting up to search for himself. He looks up and down the shore, not a pidgin in sight. "Ha! It worked!"

He relaxes back into his chair with an air of smugness when a looming dark shadow catches his eye. He squints, but it appears to be storm clouds on the horizon. The man registers the faint sound of shouting. People can't handle a bit of rain, he thinks, shaking his head. He settles back into his chair as a young kid runs by, kicking sand into his face.

"Hey!" He spits, swatting the sand off his body. The faint screaming becomes a bit louder, carrying on the breeze. A family of overweight tourists covered in sunblock race by, twisting up the married couple's towels and knocking over their drinks, covering them in wet sand.

"What the hell is going on?!" The wife says.

"It's just a rain cloud!" Her husband echoes. "Why is everyone running?!"

The screams grow louder, and suddenly, the entire beach is chaos as tourists stampede past them down the shoreline, all going the same direction… away from a massive storm forming at the other end of the beach.

The husband pulls his sunglasses to the tip of his nose, his face pale as he registers what's brewing. "No… it can't be," he whispers.

The wife looks up, frazzled and confused. "What?"

🐦 A guttural, rage-filled battle cry fills the air. A chorus of forceful coos. Gerald's son, battle-hardened and sleep deprived, stands perched atop a piece of driftwood like a general surveying his troops. Thousands of pigeons line the shoreline behind him, their feathers bristling with fury. Some wear scraps of armor fashioned from soda cans and beach debris. Others clutch small twigs like spears.

The son narrows his eyes at the beachgoers, their expressions a mix of wonder, shock, and terror. "It's time for revenge."

He lets out a guttural coo, and the army surges forward.