In high school, senior year, I killed a pigeon with a potato gun.

I didn't think I'd hit it; I gave in to peer pressure; I was emboldened by the new toy I'd made: I can make excuses.

But it really was my fault. I aimed, and I pulled the trigger.

When I saw what I had done, I rushed over to the pigeon. It was weakly limping in circles, and flapping its wings ineffectively. After half a minute, it sat down, put its head under its wing, and died.
My friend and I wrapped it in a newspaper and threw it into the trash.

And the terrible thing: I couldn't stop laughing. A painful laugh, it hurt. The scene had been so horrifying, so surreal, that I couldn't control myself.

I'll never use any sort of gun again.

My sister killed a pigeon once. She was driving the family minivan (a 1989 Dodge Caravan) home, and a pigeon flew straight into the front of the car. She braked, mainly just as a reflex to seeing a good-sized object headed straight towards the front of the car, but it was of no use. She didn't really care once she saw all the feathers fly all over and onto the windshield and whatnot and she realized it was just a suicidal pigeon. Pigeons are pretty nasty creatures, and New York City is completely overrun by them, anyway.

She came home and told us all about it, with a big smile on her face. I Think my uncle put it best:

My sister: "Guess what! I killed a pigeon with the car today!"

My uncle: "Really? Good!"
It was a beautiful summer day in Seattle, Washington. Meaning that it was one of the eight days a year it doesn't rain in Seattle. The sun was shining... the birds were chirping, and the world was a good place for the first time in a while. I was heading past Pike Place Market towards my favorite coffee shop, the Speakeasy Cafe.

And then I saw her... She was still a half-block away at that point, but there was this slowdown in time where our eyes met... brilliant green eyes shining right at me, the sunlight made them glow... Her hair... god her hair was amazing... she smiled as she stared at me, blushing slightly, brining a rosey flush to her cheeks. I knew I was blushing as well... this was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and she was flirting with me! She continued to walk towards me and I towards her. My eyes never leaving hers. Blood pounded in my ears, or maybe it was my heartbeat, because the sound of my heart beating was not a very familiar one that year. The entire world narrowed into a blurry tunnel where only her face was visible. Her beautiful face that shown so radiant in the sun, and lavished it's attention upon me...

I would have worshipped her then and there... my feet numbly pressing me forward towards her, a step at a time... only a very vague change in pressure under my boot was what I felt before her eyes strayed downward...her mouth slowly melting from a smile to a horrible contortion of anguish and concern, still further her eyes traveled, down to my para-trooper combat boots. Her mouth twisted into fear, and loathing, her gullet wriggled with the motion of one who is not well, her body recoils as if I've slapped her. I look down, hopelessly at my foot to find I'd crushed a pigeon by accident. Dumbfounded, I raise my foot gingerly to see if there was anything to be done for it... part of the bird stuck to the sole, most stuck to the sidewalk... the entire effect not entirely unlike a stubborn string of mozzarella cheestick being pulled apart.

She made a noise, like a growl, and leaned forward like she was falling. I thought she was going to faint, and made to catch her. After a brief gurgle my chest was plastered in bile and bits of whatever she had for lunch that afternoon, the reek of it was incredible... she half-screamed, half-moaned some tormented wail, pushed me away, and ran down the block, leaving me vomit-covered, and a coating of crushed-pigeon shoe-polish in the middle of a horrified crowd. I never saw her again. Five minutes later it began to rain.

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