Just a note: this is a first attempt at a horror fiction.
The steel cage was rusty gradually stripped away of its’ paint. Perhaps the paint chips were a cause of the Macaws insanity. They were trapped together, the Macaw and Amazon. They were friends once. Growing up they were about the same size, they had fun together clawing, and nipping at each others digits. The Macaw was always gentle while the Amazon would constantly harass him for fun. No retaliation, for the most part.
Something happened one day and the Amazon became more distant. What was it? Did something snap in the Macaw that only the Amazon noticed?
The abandoned home is dark, dusty, filled with webs. They used to be in two cages. They’re now in one. The owner visits occasionally to place a handful of seeds in the cage out of guilt. He doesn’t clean. Their is a growing pile of seeds below the birds. Who knows how long it will be before they suffocate in it.
The Amazon is clinging on to the side of the stage. Looking, hoping for help, hoping to escape, to fly away, fearing. The Macaw sits with its’ fecaled talons, and thinks “I just want to end our misery. I just want to help, this is good for the both of us.”
The Macaws beak is mangled, destroyed from days of gnawing on the broken down steel cage. He continues his routine. He stares emptily into space as he hooks his beak onto the bars. He’s built strength. Strength enough to break his beak. Strength enough to hook on and pull away with so much force that his beak cracks. He does this daily. He still feels pain, but it numbs over the hours. The Macaw does it again. He latches and pulls and pulls as the beak cracks and dangles. More cracking, crackling, breaking, crunching. He still has more than half of it. This takes time, it’s not easy.
The Amazon lives in fear. It wants to live, it wants its’ freedom. The Macaw knows there will be no light. He climbs over to the Amazon as it shakes and trembles. “I JUST WANT TO HELP,” the Macaw blares as he digs a talon into the back of the Amazon. They’ve become sharper than ever. It sinks easily into the delicate Amazon’s frail body. The Amazon doesn’t understand. It only feels stabbing. He can only shriek. Shrieks heard by those nearby animals that can’t help. Shrieks that scatter them. Those bystanding animals don’t know what’s happening. They only hear shrieks, screams, cries, yells. It’s a sign of danger. The best thing to do is to run if you’re an animal.
The shrieks end as the Amazon drops into the pile of seeds, and filth. He’s in a better place now, he thinks to him self, as he hears his last cracking sounds of the beak breaker.