No, I am not sorry I killed your cockatoo. Are you demented? Why do you keep a parrot like that cooped up, letting it squeal and squark all day long. And who taught it to sing that Abba song?
Where do you get your cheek? This is a block of flats for pity’s sake. The walls are paper thin. I work nights. I can’t sleep for the racket. My nerves are jangling. My head throbs all the time. I can’t take it any longer. The doctor’s put me on tablets.
Your flat stinks like a pigsty. You can smell it down the stairs. And what’s all that banging and rattling in the cage day and night. Is it having sex with a flock of birds?
Are you even listening to me? Are you completely mad? Take that fucking grin off your face. There’s nothing to laugh at here.
What? What did you say? I don’t give a stuff how much it cost you. No, I will not buy you another one. What do you mean she’s a hit on TikTok? You’ve been training her to make you a fortune on social media.
Yes, I chopped it’s head off with a bread knife. So, there’s blood everywhere. Good. I. Just. Don’t. Care. Video that and put it online.
Police! Go on call the police. You have exactly three seconds. Because that’s how long it’s going to take me to stick this knife into your dark heart.
One … two … three…
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 