The parrot

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Very much based on true incidents. I really hate that parrot... Is it justified?

Submitted: November 21, 2015

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Submitted: November 21, 2015

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I curse the day that wretched parrot came into my home. Every single day, I curse it. You know, from the moment I woke up, I knew that day was going to be a bad one. Even before I could finish my morning yawn, I just had that sinking feeling. The door had sprung open by the time my morning yawn was finished. An influx of animals swarmed into the room.

The rodents came first, scuttling under my bed and my oversized chair. Their lively chatter was only slightly cancelled out by the meowing of cats that came after. The cats, being as cats are, occupied the comfy chair and, strangely enough, did not pay much attention to the rats – of course, I didn’t notice that at the time. No, at the time, I was quite preoccupied with the bigger cats that were, in a more dignified way than their sisters, now prancing into the room. A lion and a tiger, walking paw in paw and settling next to my dusty, unused guitar in the corner. By now, the train of animals that were still walking into my room no longer frightened me and I was now looking at the seemingly endless parade with nothing but fascination. Several more animals found their way into the room – exotic and less so. Even a small giraffe found space in what I previously had thought of as a small room but which I now realized was quite gigantic – in spite of its measly 6 square meters. The giraffe had to spread its legs in a very unnatural way so as not to step on any of the other animals and its head was bumping into my ceiling lamp – but it seemed relatively content. All of them did. Each and every one had found their place and we were all getting acquainted with one another. I was very comfortable as well. I saw no more animals come into the room and I was quite content with the ensemble that had gathered. I warmly nodded to the different animals in the room and I was returned with smiles. The giraffe even nodded grandly and gracefully back with his long neck, only barely avoiding crashing into the lamp. And that’s when it happened. That’s when that god-forsaken parrot flew into the room. He swiftly flew in and perched on top of my table lamp. Flashing his bright and colourful feathers he received numerous oohs and aahs – many of them of coming from me. I was very excited over this parrot – young and naïve as I was – and gave him my full attention. Soon, he had the attention of everyone in the room. He was loud and spectacular – shouting as he flexed his wings and displayed his jazz claws. The day went on and we were none the wiser.

Weeks went on and we were a happy bunch – mostly. I began noticing a strange trend concerning our fellow parrot. Once in a while he would repeat a thing I had previously said. A mundane thing, sure, but it was a little annoying. After a while, it got to my head. The way he said – he made me hate my own words. He would say it louder, he would distort the sound – make it echo in my brain, bounce inside my head, tear away at my skull. I despised  it. I despise it. Tensions have increased. I live in fear now. My every word is under surveillance. Whenever he speaks, it triggers a panic attack. When he repeats a word I have said, my whole body shakes. I think my hair is shedding. My skin is peeling. I fear my next word may be my last. I do nothing but look up at the ceiling and curse the day that parrot came into my home. 


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