5am: the Grandma hour

Calling of the pige(on)

*authors note*
Now you're probably wondering why there is so many viewpoints in this story, well shut up. Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupvshutupshutup 12345678910GRAPES(oh shit thats my password sorry, forget about that. I don't know how to delete things). It's vitallll (fuck tthere is is again i dont know how to use the delete) for the plot's advancement.
The story takes place on junluary 43th 200. If i could describe the day in 7 words it would be: cold. Hot. eeeeeeeeeeerrrr. Mosquito hawk. Fingertoes??? February. And lorm. We zoom in on a small man. He is tiny. Like crazy small

<jelly joe>
I just got word from a carrier pigeon that i have to pay a ransom if i ever wanna see that orphan girl again. So I rode up to the bank on my trusty steed and halted at the pneumonic tube. I opened the capsule and emptied my jar full of angry bees into it. I closed the capsule and sent the tube away "take that you capitalist swine" I bellowed. I rode away maniacally giggling, that would show the bank tellers who were in no way related to the captor or even knew of the hostage situation.