Editor's Note: This cathartic story was sent to me in complete confidence, and so I shall not reveal that it came from Stephen "PH" Buxton.
At this point, I thought I could smell something a little odd. At first I believed it to be pigeon guano (as the pigeon population of Trafalgar square is quite high, and is a major problem). However, there was something else to the smell, an altogether, oh I don't know what. Anyway, it was bad.
I looked around, and I could see other people circling a strange looking man in a cloak. The cloak was a bit threadbare and dirty, as though the owner had been sleeping rough in it. It was decorated with what appeared to be stars, but they were rather tatty looking. It was running through my mind that this guy seemed familiar to me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on who he was.
He started mumbling a bit, so I moved a little closer to hear him. Quite a crowd was gathering at this point. I don't think anyone knew who he was, but people like staring at eccentrics, which would explain the crowd. I realise now that if they had known who he was, they would have been running away.
I moved to the front of the circle around him, and only then did I hear what he was saying.
"... too long the birds have ruled this planet. They are only good for serving up as roast. London has fallen foul of these verminous creatures."
I don't know if he intended it to be a pun, but he didn't raise a titter. He looked a little crestfallen, then continued.
"Pigeons are the biggest pest of the lot. I shall, before your very eyes, destroy them for you!"
He then pointed at one of the birds flying overhead. As his arm raised, his cloak lifted slightly. I caught a glimpse of what he was wearing underneath the tatty cloak. Plaid trousers! All of a sudden, it all clicked into place - the smell, the mumbling, the clothes. I was standing within 3 metres of the man who has removed too many close up mats from his trousers, mooned in front of an entire crowd, destroyed many toilets, destroyed video recorders and stunk out an entire town due to his homage to La Petomaine. Could that have been the smell I detected earlier? I realised that I was near Flash Mildew, and he was about to perform an effect!
I tried to back away, but I was hemmed in by the crowd. I wanted to warn everyone, but they weren't listening. I felt like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
With a huge shout, Flash yelled out: "Die, vermin, die!"
The pigeon that was flying overhead, in what seemed to my like slow motion, started to expand. Then, to everybody's horror, it exploded. A small child screamed as she was hit in the face by the pigeon's dismembered head. Many others started covering their faces to protect themselves from the blood and gore raining down on them.
Then, all the birds started exploding. Trafalgar Square was awash with blood, feathers, and the contents of many people's stomachs.
I tried to grab Flash Mildew, to stop him, but he was already running. I caught hold of his cloak, but like a lizard escaping from it's prey, Flash ditched his cloak and ran. In the melee, he got away.
Later, my curiosity got the better of me. I searched the pockets of the cloak, and discovered the secret of the exploding pigeons. In the pockets where a part loaf of bread, and a now empty box of a common cooking ingredient. I shall not divulge this secret ingredient, for fear of any wannabe Flash Mildew's out there copying the technique (although if you are one, it is not too late to get yourself committed).
I used to enjoy my visits to London. Now I am afraid to leave my house, for fear that if Flash Mildew can be allowed out of America, there is nowhere on this planet that is safe from him.