Fan Fiction: Angry Birds Is A Conspiracy

In the wild world of Angry Birds, birds and pigs remain mortal enemies. Or do they?

It was a calm day, slightly balmy. The wind bringing with it a smell of the spring to come. It was unseasonably warm too, but Jonathan couldn’t be bothered to talk about the weather. He stood tall on the cliff, overlooking the crude, rickety structures and the odd noises that emanated within them. Most of the time it was just rank animal sounds: a squeal here, a snuffle there. But faintly, several times now, Jonathan thought he could the impossibly slight sound of a shell cracking open before its time.

Jonathan’s feathers ruffled involuntarily. His best friend, a level 3 black bird named Gary came up behind him, where Jonathan’s own troops were assembling. “You okay man?” Gary asked uneasily.

“I just want my son back,” said Jonathan. His eyes never left the horizon, and Gary could see how tightly Jon was keeping his beak clenched.

Jonathan was an angry bird.

When the pigs had first come for the children, they had taken the flock by surprise. For years, the pigs had been nothing but peaceful neighbors to the lower-income avians. Many of the birds in Jonathan’s community were like himself: young, single parents that had a history of drug and alcohol abuse. But Jonathan had been going to his meetings, and had no longer been coming home drunk and raging at the world where he was just a lowly red-bird, unable to give his kids the advantages of growing up in a white-bird household where one day they might be able to go to college, or be used as an explosive device.

The pigs had always sympathized with Jonathan, sympathized with their dumb, dull smiles. They had made for good company, especially during the worse days, when the egg’s mother had still been around. She would openly berate Jonathan about his shitty job at the office and claim that she was going to run off with one of those blue jays that were literally three times the bird that Jonathan was. Eventually she did. But it hadn’t been so bad after she left, and the pigs had helped subsidize his income by letting him work on the forts they were building, one town over.

Looking back, Jonathan couldn’t believe he had ever been so naive. He was just lucky that he and the other birds tasked with building what they thought were residential pig-housing had done such a terrible job at it. Their tiny claws were not equipped for the hammers and nails their new employers had given them. Plus, the pigs were none to bright: Who ever thought that sticking ice on top of stone slabs would protect them from the elements? Their homes were indeed precarious, wobbling this way and that in the almost non-existent spring wind. But with the way things had turned out, Jon had never been so happy to have done a shitty job in his life.

He would never forget the day he went home to find his little one-story nest above the seed store ransacked, with no sign of his son the egg, or the pig-babysitter that stayed over while he worked those late hours building poorly-designed infrastructures deep in pits, or up on floating pieces of land. His first thought had been poachers, or a natural disaster. But there had been no news on Twitter all day. Jonathan ran next door to find his cousin, Amber, herself a single mother.

Amber was sobbing in a tiny, black ball when he found her, her feathers splashed with what he hoped wasn’t her own blood. “They took the eggs, Jonathan,” she had moaned, “They took all our eggs.” That was the last thing she ever said to him.

That had been two months ago. Amber had gone back to the bottle, and surprisingly the pig kidnappers had never moved out of plain sight. The news cycle on the white-bird network talked about nothing else but the hoofed terrorists that had stolen all the children for food. And though Jonathan had always considered himself progressive, he had unconsciously begun to believe the rhetoric. Those pig bastards were going to eat his son. He didn’t know where the pigs came from, or why, in the past two months since the war began, they never retaliated against his fellow birds’ kamikaze assault, but he knew that they were evil.