Scarlet Feathers

     It was a cool, dewy Florida morning. The sun glistened over the still Miami waters as the happy cooing of a scarlet macaw sounded from a lone house on a hill overlooking the vast Miami sands. Inside the house an old man in his mid-sixties rewarded his feathered companion with slices of banana. SQUAWK! “Sammy!” SQUAWK! "Good bird, Sammy! Good bird, Sammy!” The macaw chimed. The bird waddled up the old man’s arm and rubbed his head against his ashy grey beard. The man chuckled as he lightly scratched the head of his companion of thirty years.  

     The old man, Mitch, had bought Sammy as a chick after he had lost his wife, Veronica, to brain cancer. He raised Sammy by hand and had only shown the bird love and affection. Recently, however, Mitch had been getting on in years and he had started feeling... strange. Dizzy, easily aggravated, seeing and hearing things that weren’t there: these are all things Mitch has been dealing with recently, but he thought nothing of it as he played with his feathered friend.

     Suddenly, one of his attacks struck. The old man sat the bird down and stood up woozily. Sammy croaked in confusion as the old man, for the sixth time in three days, got up and started yelling at nothing. Mitch slowly turned and looked at the bird with a blank, wide eyed stare. Something had clicked in his head that finally made him think. Sammy is the reason this is happening. It’s the bird. The BIRD. I NEED TO GET RID OF THE BIRD!

     Sammy took a few excited steps forward as his master stumbled towards him. He cawed in excitement as his friend neared him, but Mitch aggressively grabbed the bird with both hands. Sammy screeched in confusion. “Good bird, Sammy!” the macaw crowed as if unfazed by the anger of the man. These words echoed in Mitch’s mind only setting him more ablaze. He yanked open the door and threw the bird out, and Sammy flew along the coast in a cloud of scarlet feathers.

     An hour passed and Mitch had calmed down, but his celebration quickly ended as he heard a tap, tap, tapping on his wooden porch. Mitch looked out his front door window only to be greeted by the sight of Sammy. He watched as Sammy continuously leaned forward putting his beak against the rail, made kissing sounds at the rail, and leaned away. This continued for a few minutes until Mitch became agitated and flung the door open to shoo off the bird. Sammy took this as his chance and waddled up to the man he still considered his friend. SQUAWK! “Pretty bird!”  

     This sent Mitch into a frenzy. He squatted down and reached toward Sammy as if to strangle him but stopped half way. He realized he could not kill his companion, the scarlet macaw who knew nothing but love and affection. Mitch stood up but only heard ringing in his ears as his mind went blank. “Sammy,” he gently cooed. This caught the bird’s attention and he ruffled his feathers excitedly. “Bath time, Sammy. Go to the water.” Sammy knew what these words meant and hopped and glided towards the water of the Miami beach. Mitch quickly grabbed something out of a drawer and walked out to meet Sammy on the coast.

     The bird hopped and played in the water and only grew more excited as his owner walked towards him. Sammy cawed and cooed as if he was still the young macaw that Mitch bought thirty years ago. Mitch reached down towards the bird, “Step up” and Sammy gladly obliged.  

     From his pocket the man slowly pulled out his loaded revolver. He held it firmly in his hand as the bird rubbed up against him and cooed with joy, happy to have his old friend back.

     The old man smiled and gently patted the macaw on the head with his free hand. As the salty Florida water danced against his legs, he slowly raised and pointed the gun at the bird’s head planning to point it at his own next.  

     The bird squawked and two gunshots sounded. Now all was quiet but the sound of the blood red water crashing against the scarlet feathers on the sand.