Angry Birds -- A short written story
jb15
Member Posts: 602
While taking a quick break from writing an exploratory essay for school, I wrote this (it puts into words the angry birds cinematic trailer):
In a land far away, with fresh, green, grassy hills, five birds sit around a nest and admire three freshly lain eggs. As they sit, they examine each and every part of the three eggs, studying the general shape, and pure whiteness of them. They probe into the most miniscule details—the small, almost invisible bumps on the hard shell—the general texture, and the way they so perfectly rest in the now occupied nest.
Nearby, three round pigs nonchalantly graze. You might be surprised that these pigs are grazing—well, these are surprising pigs. They’re actually green. The only way you might be able to tell them apart from the birds is that these creatures, instead of having sharp, yellow beaks, have large snouts. You may be surprised at how large their nostrils are—but, as I said, these are very surprising pigs. As they graze, they begin to develop distaste for grass. They begin to think about what else they could eat. And then, in the distance, they see a blinding glare—as their eyes adjust to the light, the glare turns into three distinct, shiny, oval objects, all lumped together. Eggs. Delicious eggs.
Back at the nest, a black mosquito comes to rest on one of the eggs. One of the birds instantly jumps to squash the mosquito—the insect is on the ground now, under the bird. The two are one red and black swift-moving blur. Red feathers fly everywhere—now the mosquito lies dead. Still filled with fury, the bird maintains his viscous assault on the mosquito—now only a dark, evil memory.
The red bird turns around to view the damage that has been done to the eggs. The other four birds, who have been watching the battle intently, do the same. Then shock sets in. The eggs are gone. The nest is empty. Hoof prints have crushed the blades of grass surrounding the nest. The marks trail off, around a small hill.
Five sets of bird eyes narrow, and become small slits. The birds are shaking uncontrollably, filled with fury beyond what words can describe. In comparison, the mosquito was only annoying—this thievery—this crime—calls for more than the death of the kidnappers—it calls for utter destruction. It calls for revenge. Swift, intense, immense, revenge.
In a land far away, with fresh, green, grassy hills, five birds sit around a nest and admire three freshly lain eggs. As they sit, they examine each and every part of the three eggs, studying the general shape, and pure whiteness of them. They probe into the most miniscule details—the small, almost invisible bumps on the hard shell—the general texture, and the way they so perfectly rest in the now occupied nest.
Nearby, three round pigs nonchalantly graze. You might be surprised that these pigs are grazing—well, these are surprising pigs. They’re actually green. The only way you might be able to tell them apart from the birds is that these creatures, instead of having sharp, yellow beaks, have large snouts. You may be surprised at how large their nostrils are—but, as I said, these are very surprising pigs. As they graze, they begin to develop distaste for grass. They begin to think about what else they could eat. And then, in the distance, they see a blinding glare—as their eyes adjust to the light, the glare turns into three distinct, shiny, oval objects, all lumped together. Eggs. Delicious eggs.
Back at the nest, a black mosquito comes to rest on one of the eggs. One of the birds instantly jumps to squash the mosquito—the insect is on the ground now, under the bird. The two are one red and black swift-moving blur. Red feathers fly everywhere—now the mosquito lies dead. Still filled with fury, the bird maintains his viscous assault on the mosquito—now only a dark, evil memory.
The red bird turns around to view the damage that has been done to the eggs. The other four birds, who have been watching the battle intently, do the same. Then shock sets in. The eggs are gone. The nest is empty. Hoof prints have crushed the blades of grass surrounding the nest. The marks trail off, around a small hill.
Five sets of bird eyes narrow, and become small slits. The birds are shaking uncontrollably, filled with fury beyond what words can describe. In comparison, the mosquito was only annoying—this thievery—this crime—calls for more than the death of the kidnappers—it calls for utter destruction. It calls for revenge. Swift, intense, immense, revenge.