WHEE WHOO, WHEE WHOO, WHEE WHOO, WHEE WHOO!
The chirps and crackling of grasshoppers disguised in the dead, rolling hills were muffled by the wailing of alarms. Sirens, prepared for this inevitable situation to arrive, boomed through the village, waking every citizen in it from their slumber, which had been dead silent until now. Red lights signaling an emergency rolled across the sidewalks and dead grass of Forgville. Radios in every home broadcasted the same prerecorded dialogue of the deputy mayor's voice: "May I have your attention please. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. Forgville is currently under attack by the hawks. Please collect all family members and pets, and proceed to the emergency underground passage."
The mayor, barely awake but forcing her eyes was at the center of the passages within minutes. Cobwebs stretched across the rough, soot-colored rectangular walls that enclosed the dusty smell which they released. These walls, strategically placed under houses like a basement and linked to the large space where they were led through a tunnel to the shelters, had taken decades to build. The hawks had seized the lands of most of the villages surrounding Forgville. The citizens of those villages had either been cursed or had to abandon their destructed villages for the hills, far away, where they were (hopefully) safe from the cult of hawks. The curse, you ask? The cult of hawks, you ask?
Let me explain Gren and his cult.
There was a flock of powerful, large, normal hawks. I mean, it still exists. Well larger than most, so not quite normal, but still normal. Large, brown feathers and lighter bellies, sturdy wings, piercing talons, etc etc. But among this family of hawks, a tiny egg hatched, and emerged the most feeble idiot you've ever seen.
This hawk was different. He was weaker than the rest. He had feeble wings and fragile talons and he wet his bed a lot. And most distinct of all, his iconic, unnatural, bright green feathers to go with his brown ones. Because of all these traits, his mother named him Grendiff to represent his differences, particularly his green feathers.
So because of this, Gren was relentlessly bullied by his flock as he continued to grow up in it. Shoved into the lake,
One day, years later, as a fully grown adult, Gren left the flock that "raised" him. Not a single bird batted an eye. The feeling of freedom that rushed through him as he exited the bushes that led to the flock was enthralling.
He swung his head around to face the shore where his flock – er, his former flock – lived, and declared, "I'M NOT WEIRD! I'M GONNA START MY OWN FLOCK, AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!"
No one heard. Even if they did, no one would take him seriously. He was but a feeble, sad excuse for a member of his flock.
Now, in a time span of just two years, his massive and evergrowing flock was aiming to overtake any and all surrounding villages, towns, and someday, the faraway city.
The mayor of Forgville had her face in the sunshine that beamed through the office's window. All she could see through her shut eyes was the red of her eyelids and the ideas she was stirring up. The civilians had escaped the terror of the hawks, down to their temporary shelter several hundred miles away that would undoubtedly become permanent. They had to start almost from scratch; every morning, the mayor was woken by the deafening buzzing of cranes and squealing of wrenches. All they had were some poorly built important locations established with enough supplies to last… maybe half a year? There were a lot more supplies in the old town, but guess who stole that.
There was a knock at the door.
She spun her chair around, blinking the blindness out of her eyes. "Come in."
Her deputy mayor creaked the door open and peeked in. This man was the second-in-command of Forgville. He acted as mayor in case she couldn't, kept her insane ideas from getting out of hand, and was bald. "Uh-"
"Dude." The mayor slammed her hands into her desk enthusiastically.
The deputy jumped in surprise. "YES!"
"We need to stop those darned-flipping-shatting-no-good environment-pants hawks!"
"Environment-pants?" the deputy echoed in a small, bewildered voice.
"They've stolen too many people and too much territory. We need to stop them."
The deputy processed what she was talking about, his hands held behind him, before speaking. "How do you plan to do that?"
"Uh…" The mayor's eyes widened as she looked into the abyss in thought, her short, bitten fingernails still clawed into her desk. "We can have the army figure that out later."
"Our army is tiny," the deputy huffed. "That's literally why we built the underground passages."
"True… we'll have people volunteer on this mission. Like a militia of sorts."
The deputy pulled the chair across the mayor out and settled into it. "And who do you think is gonna sign up to be killed by a green hawk?"
"We'll make the poster look really convincing. And fancy."
The deputy cupped his face in his hands and rolled his eyes. "Wow, you're such a responsible mayor," he deadpanned.
The mayor pushed herself out of her chair. It toppled over and crashed into the floor, which she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were glittering again, her wide grin becoming unsettling. "Who cares! So long as we get rid of those darned-flipping-shatting-no-good environment-pants hawks, we – and every other village – will be safe. And they'll have Forgville to thank!"