Bustle of cars on roads below and above. Clacks of heels on cement, muddled adverts through glass, and bubbling talk in different directions from different blocs. Listening closely, waiting for the coo: a pigeon with no name, mysterious in many ways. Coat colored uniquely, noted for being not much of a cooer. A little gadget around the right leg, a little clip on the shoulder.
It’s almost time. A few silhouettes started to pour up from the horizon made of the tops of buildings and billboards. They were birds, surely, but it wasn’t obvious what kind. There’s a mote of fear that comes with every flightful entity: of late, there’s a sinister interest in technological flyers, and the creeping wave of uncertainty ascends from the streets up through the telephone poles. It’s reached the birds.
If medals were earned for the merits of the birds, this pigeon would be decorated beyond its encumbrance, earning a vanity for accolade display. Names were not really a part of this culture, and so the identity was known in energetic aura rather than visual productions. Nonetheless, human artists a part of the cult following for this pigeon found their way to an embodying visual expression:
As for a common auditory expression, internet platforms referred to this bird as “Namelessness”. Many argued "Why not just ‘Nameless’?”, while “Namelessness” proponents never needed to answer; they kept it trucking, and it wound up stucking. Sometimes, people referred to them as “N”.
As the silhouettes became clearer, and colors started to wash in, N understood the party composition, intention, and full scope of the now-hatching scheme. So it began: the beginning of the end, and the end of a short-lived, hard-earned, intermediate peace. This peace was expected to last only as long as the planning phase of the opposition, thus it was less of an upset, and more of an onset. Now began the next duties of N, and like a flash of thunder they got to work.
The fake tweet is sod faklsjdkfldas;lf
terrifying