[I wrote this a few days ago in an attempt at injecting some variety into my writing]
He prances around majestically, a prince in grey and white. Flat-footed, he pauses, yellow eyes surveying his domain.
He opens his yellow and red beak, and lets out a loud squawk of disapproval. He begins to walk, waddling from side to side as most birds do.
Pit-pat-pit-pat, the talons strike the pavement.
I can see him eyeing up my chips as he flutters closer. Sneaky bugger. The seagull is a prince and pauper in one.
“Go away,” I grumble, putting an arm around my portion of food.
Cocking his head to one side, he stares as if to say “make me”.
One hop closer.
“Feeling lucky, punk?” I challenge, guarding my chips zealously.
Seagulls are scavengers, I think to myself, remembering my childhood nature book. Surely, they wouldn’t…
His mouth gapes open as he extends his wings to full length.
He tip-taps closer.
“You wanna mess with this?” I hold up my fist threateningly, shaking it in his direction, but he leaps closer, unfazed.
Maybe he doesn’t speak English.
That was a bizzare thought. He’s almost at my feet, gazing up at me with his angry egg-yolk eyes.
“Alright, I’ll give you some! Just… shut up!” I yell, tossing him a handful of greasy, half-burnt chips.
Without hesitation, he bows his head and begins to peck at the food. Majestic in flight, a beggar in appetite.
While he’s distracted, I dart off, hoping he doesn’t have any form of chip-sniffing GPS.