Final

As I woke up, I looked out my cage to see the living room that I used to know so well. On Sundays, Doug and Bill would come over to watch football. They didn’t have as big of a TV as we did. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was jealous. Bill would bring the beer, and Doug would bring three bags of Cheetos. I remember my wife would always be so anal when it came to us drinking beer on the couches. She was always scared that we would spill, and get Cheeto dust on the pillows, but we never did.

The living room was one out of a catalog. The hard wood floors were so shiny that we could see our faces in them. The walls were lined with modern art that never made any sense to me. Why would someone want to paint something that no one would understand? There was one painting on the cream colored walls with three splashes of paint on it. That is not art. It’s a paint spill. There was one couch that was in front of the TV hanging on the wall. The couch was white, which as I have explained, is the most dangerous color.

By the orange colored sunlight coming through the window, I could tell that it was morning. I don’t even think that my ex would be awake yet. She always slept late on Mondays. I think that it’s kind of strange that I’m not sleeping with her though. I wonder if she misses me. I heard a creak. I think that’s her. I miss waking up to her in the morning. Her hair would always be pointing upward. I heard another creak. She was definitely awake. She will have to past by my cage to get to the kitchen. I was so excited.

“I think I have pancake mix.” I heard her say. Talking to herself? That’s kind of weird.

“Pancake mix? Can’t you make the real thing?” I heard another voice say. What’s going on?

I saw Doug walk in wearing his boxers toward the kitchen? His hair was totally upright, just like I know that hers was. Are they together? Seriously? Doug? He knew that I was paranoid about her cheating on me, and that I was always so scared that somebody was going to swoop into her life, and steal her from me. How can he do this to me? She’s supposed to be waking up to me, not Doug. Has my best friend been the one I was so scared of all this time? I can take him. He might be better looking than I was, and more muscular, but I was angry, and everybody knows that when you’re mad you gain the strength of two boxers. He betrayed me, and he’s living the life that I wanted, but I can’t live that life because I’M A FRIGGEN PARROT!

I started flying around my cage to let out my anger. I was flying violently because that’s how I felt. I wanted to do violent things to Doug. I was flying so hard that the cage almost fell off the table it was on, but instead of the cage falling over, the black wrought iron door creaked open.

All these voices in my head were fighting. I should or shouldn’t do it. If I do it, she might hate me. Does she love him? Hell, no. She still loves me. She chose me from all the other birds in that pet store, and that bastard is cheating on my wife. He deserves every bit of what he’s about to get.

I shot of my cage at my supposed best friend. At rocket speed, I shot my beak right into Doug’s eye, and I heard a scream. It wasn’t coming from Doug; it was coming from my wife. She was crying over Doug’s body, which was lying limp on the reflective hard wood floors.

She was actually crying for him. She never cried for me. This must have really been serious. She must have loved him. He’s still on the floor, and he’s not moving. Oh, god. Did I just hurt my best friend? Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did this. Doug was my football buddy, and I told him everything, and I just shot my dagger into his eye socket. I… I… I got to go. I have to leave. And I flew out the open window, leaving my wife cry over my best friend.