For my son, who says The Pigeon Whisperer should be a comic and not just this flash fiction story. ;)

“You saved my life and got my purse back. How can I ever thank you enough?”

Soft, fleshy arms envelope Steve’s shoulders. As the lady releases him, he smiles. “Just doing what I can to help.”

Tilting her head, she sighs. “And the park is so much safer because you do. Thanks again.”

As she walks away, continuing down the sunlit path dotted with stray flower petals, a man approaches. He glances at Steve’s cape. “Wow! It sounds like you’re a real-live superhero.”

Steve straightens his shoulders, placing his fists on his hips. “They call me The Pigeon Whisperer.”

The man’s brow shoots up as he coughs and sputters. “How is that even a thing? That’s not a superpower.” His face turns red as full-bellied laugh escapes.

Steve crosses his arms and glares at the man. “Have you seen what pigeons can do?”

Between chuckles the man replies, “That’s your big offensive maneuver—your claim to fame—pigeons with poo bombs?”

Steve narrows his eyes. “No. This is.” He whistles, five short bursts. Pigeons from all over the park descend upon the man, a flurry of feathers and furious whistling.

Arms over his head, the man crouches. “Okay, okay, okay. I get it. Call off your flying rats.” The man shouts.

Steve whistles three slow bursts. The Pigeons fly away and the man rises, in need of a shower and a few bandaids but otherwise uninjured.

“Don’t mess with The Pigeon Whisper.”