I'm thinking about doing a series of short stories and calling it Apocalypse Ridiculous. It'll be just what the title sounds like, stories about the world ending in very, very strange ways.
This is the first one I've started, tentatively titled "Apocalypse by Goose."
They descended upon the city in a flurry of feathers. They ate everything in sight, knocking garbage cans over in the twilight like long-necked raccoons. They hissed at the children and chased them for blocks on the slightest provocation. We couldn't shoot them and only the worst of us lacked guilt over poisoning them. The geese were here with their loathsome appetites and we just had to be patient. It had to end some day.
The children thought it was cool, this near ground cover of waterfowl. They fed the birds bread, first tossed on the ground with squeals of glee but advancing quickly to food taken directly from the hand, the child's determined stillness apparent and sharp intake of excited breath audible. It was our mistake, feeding them, and we would pay for it dearly.
They became accustomed to our presence as we became more unnerved by theirs. The geese soon learned that these treats fed to them need not be given but could be taken instead. They discovered our trash cans, brimming with delectable refuse, and raided them accordingly. We tried to chase them off but they simply hissed, chased, and bit when given half a chance. They bit frequently but more out of defense than anything, at least in the beginning. Scientists never could pinpoint just when this casual malice turned into a taste for human blood or why, but it did.
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