The Black Parrot (Edgar Allan Poe Tribute)

I hated the world to the point where I stayed inside, locked away in deep thought, letting my pen guide my every move. It was the greatest weapon that I held, nothing else even came close. The gun—the sword—but the pen could deal the most damage, with words, that could rip apart a heart at the seams. Sticks and stones may break bones, but the pen and its words can cause someone to take their own life—therefore, it is the strongest weapon known to man, and I held its power in my possession to regulate life or death. But, even so, that wasn’t my place to decide, to an extent.

I was a short, lanky man, who seemed to have no real purpose. At times I felt I was just a blob of mass, taking up space in this place that many compare to heaven, but for me and those that I used to know — it seemed like the pits of hell. Nothing felt like it went right, and things—people were taken from me instantaneously.

I’m breathing heavily, scratching the names, the names… of those who—no I mus’n’t write this down.

All is silent in the house of the dead. The whole neighborhood lay still and lifeless. The new neighbors were calling me names, horrible names that I won’t dare mark on this paper. The sun died for the day and the moon was born to the night. All was silent, no one moved, and I was left scratching on a piece of paper alone. Solitude. It was I and the black parrot I have grown fond of. I often held my brisk lips to its ear, spilling all of the blood and guts I had encased inside. 

 The next morning the sky was painted with blood. The shutters of the windows were crying out, reaching for me as if they had arms, but I wouldn’t listen to what they had to say. The house was dying and I with it as one. The black parrot was locked but not locked up, stuck in a void. She would speak to me and I would listen like it was my last dying moment. She whispered advice to me. She told me to pass through the door and invite the new neighbors, but I can’t— they reject—they reject who I really am.

She is the only light I see in this wretched, undying world.

I opened the door to the outside. Flames roared from a house in the distance, burning to the ground. Those who commit larceny and arson were too common, like the dirt of the ground that covers the catacombs of our ancestors, but I was no different than the rest. I bent down, with the black parrot perching on my shoulder, picking up a doll with black hair and the same black eyes as her. 

I walked back inside, step by dreading step. The black parrot held the mangled doll in its talons. I screamed at the black parrot, throwing it against the brick wall, snapping one of its legs. Mortified, I snatched the bird off the ground, resting it on my shoulder once more.

I built a contraption inside of her chest so that she could live again. I spent more time with her than ever, whispering in her ear and heeding her avid advice. She still insisted upon me inviting over the new neighbors, but I wouldn't have any of it, no matter how much I liked her advice. 

   Angered, I stormed out of the house, snatching a carving knife from the kitchen. I opened the sliding hatch of the barn to harvest my spoils of the week. A few fish from my last trip, including some lively catfish. I took a hammer from the shelf, unleashing my wrath upon their skull, killing them instantly. 

The others—the others will find the light.

I was contemplating filleting the fish, but I heard screaming coming from the inside of the house — squawking almost. I made a beeline for the door. She wanted food, I must oblige her, no matter what the cost to my mortal body.  

I ran back and peeled away the flesh from the meat and the meat from the carcasses. I snatched a spade from inside the barn. 

I dug a hole and shut the remains under the Earth. I walked back inside with her on my mind. I couldn’t shake the thought of everything that was happening, just like the day of reckoning.