Jonathon Chavingston Seagull

Sidling outside the cinema for a sly roll-up in between shifts and my eyes are caught by a perculiar sight, or to be more precise, several perculiar sights. There is one across the road strutting on top of a bin. Another harrasses a smaller group of allies with a vocal screech that sounds like Cher trying to pass a kidney-stone. Above me I see one's face perched on the roof of the cinema, giving me an evil stare, while far in the distance I hear the sound of many more, a flock of them, moving ever more hastily towards the rally.
Now I hear their words; pitched from their gullets in a dull cadence that rings out like the flat buzz of an old telephone. I find it hard to decipher exactly what theyre talking about but recurring words constantly crop up. Words like 'innit', 'am I though?' and 'lend us two's'. In a crescendo of noise, the word 'daakheaddd' is chanted, over and over again, until it reaches maximum volume and all hell breaks loose; car alarms go off in all directions, dogs howl into the night sky, lights flicker in terraced houses and a dark omninous cloud manifests and looms over the street.
As the calamity reaches a head I begin to witness the transformation that seaside towns like mine have always feared. Long have I suspected the connection which is taking shape, as hundreds of tracksuit wearing Chavs mutate before me. I tremble in fear as eyeballs reduce in colour and shape until they are small, black and perfectly circular. I gawp out loud as mouths extend out, being replaced by a long orange beaks. My knees give way as giant graceless wings rip through the backs of Lacoste hoodies and rise high in the air like the hammer of Zues, then begin to flap aggresively one after another. While doing so their distented torsos' stick out with ignorant pride and their smooth white heads, no longer housing the delicate perch of baseball caps, jitter from side to side.
Then the unified cry returns as one by one, giant Chav Seagulls take to the sky and fly away, leaving in their wake a landscape of terror and destruction. Society's scavengers have merged together and in one horrible act become more powerful than ever.
As the flock flies in the direction of the South Bay Arcades their sound can still be heard echoing through the empty streets: 'daakheadd'...'daaakheaaaadddddd'...'daaakheeeaaadddddddd'.. untill it slowly fades out into nothing and all that remains is our very own fear.