Hearts and Spades: Episode 1

Episode one: The Phantom Menace.

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It had been roughly ten sweeps since the pigeon lusi had migrated into the region of Soperaville on Planet Gamara. They never seemed to stay more than a sweep or two, and less so if the weather was tumultuous.

No one really cared much though. What was so interesting about a pack of pigeons? It wasn't as though they disturbed anything, and the highbloods of the region kept all other trolls in line. But they didn't go perfectly unnoticed.

Standing high above Soperaville, on a vine-shrouded cliff-side overlooking the region, stood a lone troll named Imogen, a tall and slender youth with deep blue eyes and a pouf of hair, half sheltering his dark-rimmed eyes. His horns hooked down sharply, just to below his chin and made it hard for him to look down at his shoes when he tied them. Looking down was generally a problem for him though, and it made others believe this blue-blood was condescending.

What did he care? They didn't know who he was, or why he was there anyway. His life and struggle were none of their business, and none of them had to know his terrible secret.

He turned his head to face the wind, letting his hair drift out of his vision for a moment as he looked to the skies and saw the migratory birds, dumb and flighty, the pigeons soared overhead in a flock which drifted and swung in the air like an idiotic school of fish.

Imogen grit his sharp teeth and rubbed his neck. “I don't’ want to face this… not again…” he said to himself as he kept his eyes on them. “Not again!” He spat and stamped one of his short-heeled boots. Fists clenched and his tri-slitted eyes narrowed, he knew exactly where they were going.

Into Soperaville, once more.

Imogen climbed onto his motorcycle. Crotch-rocket, it was called. Too fast, and too small, but just the way he liked it. He could get anywhere in little to no time, and driving on sidewalks and through crowded streets never phased him. He was a great driver after all.

Anyone in his way was just a fool.

With his hand on the throttle, he cut a fast trail through the woods that wrapped the cliff and down the mountainside into Soperaville to greet the normally unnoticed visitors. “I’m not going to let it happen again!”

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“Begone, you foul beasts!” a man shouted, swinging his fists into the air. A flock of startled pigeons shot up into the sky, fluttering their wings erratically. He felt like he was the only person Soperaville who truly hated the meddlesome vermin. In their wild flight, several of the cooing beasts collided head first onto the violet eyed male. He was shoved back and let out a loud screech, one of frustration.

Edward was his name.

He batted at the birds as he desperately tried to get rid of them, his hair now tangled with their loose downy plumage. He took a step back but as soon as the riot had begun, it was over. His unintentional attackers flew away in a frenzy, leaving him in a tizzy. He stomped his foot on the cobbled pavement with one last huff before her grabbed his keys and swung them around his finger once, plucking a loose feather out of his hair and flicking it off.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the street where his car was parked. The pigeons, they had soiled the hood of his scarlet Volvo, the sides, the trunk and tires, even the door handle. He grimaced and moved his hand to his back and grabbed the handkerchief that had been loosely tucked into his pocket. It was cerulean, with pretty silver embroidery on the edges. It had been a gift to him from a special troll, and now it was covered in pigeon shit... once he used it to open the door.

He swung the door open and with a grumble, began to slide in, as one single dropping of pigeon feces plopped on his perfectly, albeit messy hair. He didn’t feel it, however, which was perhaps for the better. He lowered his head to have his tall, upwards curving horns fit in with the rest of his head. There was no way he could open the sunroof now; it was a complete and utter disaster.

He closed his door and turned the engine on, shifting his body down a bit on the seat as he tried to fit comfortably on the cushion, and began to drive. Tonight he had someone special to meet, but before that he had some cleaning to do.


He could see the pigeon’s menacing flock overhead, clouding out the stars in the midnight sky. He narrowed his eyes, and swore under his breath, as he drove. One day he would see them all annihilated.

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 Imogen crested high over the bridge leading back into Soperaville, keeping close behind the swarm of fat, fluttering featherheads. He didn't need to stay close to them, but it might be handy to know where, at least tonight,. they would be roosting.

 The lights of town began to reflect off the surface of his custom horn-fitted helmet, and the citizens wandering the streets dove out of his way as he zoomed by, not minding where anyone else was. He didn’t care. At this moment, the lane belonged to him.

 Coming upon one of the largest hives in the town, he brought his motorcycle to a rumbling stop at the edge of the yard-ring and lifted his visor.

 “What??” He gasped, staring in disbelief as the birds began to fill the old oak-like trees that hooded the grand estate. “Not here…” he breathed out and gripped the handlebars tighter. This place was all too familiar. He could recall every twist and turn of the old mansion’s halls and rooms.

 His heart skipped a beat as he put his visor back down and shook his head. Not tonight. He couldn't face this tonight. There was no way he was ready. But he would be.

Taking out his phone, he sent a single text message.

“The pigeons are back. I don’t know what to do yet, but I promise, I won’t let this happen again..”

A small, seven-inch-tall bird on a fence post stared at him with a shifting, moronic gaze. The mindless creature made one small, hellish coo, and watched as Imogen sped back onto the main road, back to his hive.