Children, Fiction, Pigeons

My Pigeon Children

She watched them fighting over grains of wheat. There were others waiting on a window ledge, waiting for their turn according to established hierarchy. Outside what had been a box for an air conditioner, sat the one who preferred to be alone. The others thought he was odd, but he laughed at their narrow minded wisdom when he spread his wings and relaxed all day and night. She saw the others huddled together when sunset began, in the exact same places, including the daring one whose designated place was on the edge.

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