His Gift, My Ending

The parrot my boyfriend gave me was unnerving. Every day, it mimicked my exact voice to whisper bleak phrases: I'm so tired. My head hurts. I don't want to live.

Simultaneously, I developed severe insomnia. My hair fell out in clumps, and my weight plummeted from 110 to a skeletal 82 pounds. My doctor was baffled, comparing my body to a bucket with a hole in the bottom, leaking its life force into nothingness.

When I begged to give the bird away, my boyfriend insisted I was imagining things. Instead of helping, he bought an even larger cage. It wasn't until I jumped from our rooftop that I saw the truth. In my final seconds of freefall, I looked through the window and saw him embracing another woman, weeping with joy.

"Margret, my love, you've suffered so long trapped in that bird's body. Thank God I found a girl with such a vibrant life force this time."

Only then did I realize he had been using my life to nourish his comatose first love. But when I opened my eyes, I was back on the day he brought the parrot home. I smiled sweetly as I accepted the cage. Then, the moment his back was turned, I drove straight to a private vet.

"Dr. Ross, this parrot is causing noise complaints. Remove its vocal cords immediately."

It was our second anniversary.

I sat on the living room sofa, watching my boyfriend, Jacob, walk through the front door holding a beautifully wrapped cage.

He offered me his signature warm, gentle smile. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I brought you a present."

He opened the cage door, and a beautiful blue parrot fluttered onto my hand.

"Her name is Margret. She belonged to an old friend of mine who had to move abroad, and he asked me to look after her. I figured you get lonely when I'm at work, so she can keep you company."

I stared at the parrot.

The bird tilted its head, its dark, bead-like eyes scanning me with a calculating intensity. It looked like a customer inspecting a piece of meat, deciding if it was up to standard.

"Thank you, Jacob. I love her," I said, reaching out a finger to gently stroke her feathers.

The moment the words left my mouth, the parrot opened its beak. My own voice came out of it, perfect and flawless.

"I'm so tired."

The pitch, the cadence, the exact weary tone, it was all mine. It sounded as if the words had been ripped directly from my own throat.

I calmly withdrew my hand and set the cage on the coffee table.

Because I was reborn.

In my past life, the parrot had behaved exactly the same way. From the very first moment we met, it had used my voice to utter those depressing words. I had dismissed it as a birds natural mimicry, and because I didn't want Jacob to think I was dramatic or ungrateful, I had kept my mouth shut.

I had taken meticulous care of the bird. I fed her on time, cleaned her cage daily, bought the most expensive organic birdseed, and even installed a tiny swing for her entertainment.

None of it had mattered.

She never stopped tormenting me.

Whenever Jacob played with her, she would coo affectionately and rub her head against his fingers. When his friends visited, she would cheerfully chirp "Hello." Even when the delivery courier rang our doorbell, she would offer a couple of happy, welcoming squawks.

But the moment she was alone with me, she opened her beak to say:

"I'm so tired."

"My head hurts."

"I don't want to live anymore."

Over and over, my own voice echoed through the empty apartment.

Whenever I suggested finding her a new home, Jacob would knit his brows in annoyance.

"How can you be jealous of a bird, Mona? She's just mimicking what she hears. Why do you have to make everything a struggle?"

Then, he would turn to the parrot with a voice full of tenderness. "Don't worry, Margret. I won't let anyone take you away."

I had endured that torture for three long months.

During the day, I suffered from auditory hallucinations, constantly hearing a voice whispering "I don't want to live" in my ear. At night, insomnia gripped me, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw those dark, avian eyes staring back at me.

My hair fell out in handfuls, and my weight dropped like a stone. When I went to the clinic, the doctor found no physical illness, but my vital signs were rapidly deteriorating. He had frowned, muttering that it seemed as if something were actively siphoning away my life force.

In my previous life, I didn't believe in the supernatural, assuming it was all in my head. That foolish skepticism cost me my life.

Now, having returned from the dead, I looked down at the cage. The parrot was staring at me with a look of smug, triumphant satisfaction.

I smiled back at her.

"Sweetheart, is something wrong?" Jacob asked, noticing my silence.

"Nothing at all," I said, looking up at him. "I was just thinking that Margret is absolutely adorable."

Jacob let out a sigh of relief, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

"I knew you'd love her."

He had no idea that in this life, I was going to make him and his comatose darling pay for every single drop of blood they took from me.

For the next few days, I played the part of the perfect, submissive girlfriend. I fed the bird on time, changed her liners, and even spoke to her in soft, gentle tones.

The parrot continued to repeat those dark phrases in my voice every single day.

"I'm so tired."

"My head hurts."

"I don't want to live anymore."

But this time, the words had no power over me. Because I knew exactly what she was.

On Wednesday evening, Jacob returned from work. I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when a loud crash echoed from the living room.

I walked out to find our favorite ceramic vase shattered on the floor, water spilling across the table.

The parrot was perched on the edge of her cage, tilting her head to look at me. Her eyes were filled with pure, deliberate provocation.

Jacob set his briefcase down, frowning as he looked at the mess, then at me.

"What happened?"

"Margret knocked the vase over," I said quietly.

"Shes a tiny bird, Mona. How could she possibly have the strength to tip over a heavy vase?" Jacob squatted down to comfort the bird. "Did you do something to frighten her?"

I didn't argue. I simply fetched the mop and cleaned up the water.

Ten minutes later, another loud crash sounded.

My phone had been swiped from the sofa and hurled onto the tile floor. The screen was spiderwebbed with deep cracks.

I picked up the broken phone and looked at the parrot.

She opened her beak, using my voice to mutter, "I don't want to live anymore."

Then, she let out a sharp, mocking laugh. It wasn't a bird's chirp; it was the distinct, malicious laugh of a grown woman.

I gripped the phone tightly, my face entirely calm.

Jacob walked out of the bathroom, spotting the shattered screen. "What now?"

"Margret threw my phone onto the floor."

He frowned, walking over to the cage. The moment he approached, the parrot shed all her hostility, cooing softly and rubbing her beak against his knuckles.

"She's just an animal, Mona. She didn't do it on purpose. Stop being so paranoid."

"But Jacob..."

"Enough!" he snapped, his voice rising in anger. "Can you stop being so incredibly petty? Shes a bird! Youre constantly picking fights with an animal. It's embarrassing."

He sat on the sofa, cradling the bird in his hands and gently blowing on her feathers.

"Don't worry, Margret. No one is going to hurt you."

I stood in the center of the room, watching them. My heart was as cold and still as a frozen lake.

In my past life, I had sacrificed my sanity and my life for this mans affection.

In this life, I would ensure that every single person who had a hand in my torment would pay in full.

I returned to the kitchen and continued cooking. The sizzle of the pan drowned out Jacobs soft, affectionate murmurs to the bird. I didn't want to wait another day, but I knew I had to be patient. I needed the perfect opportunity, a moment when they would lower their guard completely.

That opportunity arrived sooner than expected.

On Friday night, Jacob announced that he had to go out of town for a three-day business trip starting Monday.

"Sweetheart, while I'm away, please take extra care of Margret."

I nodded obediently. "Of course. Don't worry."

He smiled, adding, "Oh, and I asked my mother to come stay with you for a few days. That way, you won't get lonely."

My heart sank.

In my past life, it had been the exact same. Every time Jacob left town, his mother, Victoria, would move in.

On the surface, she was there to keep me company. In reality, she was there to monitor me, ensuring I didn't do anything to harm the precious bird. Because Margret could see through the parrots eyes, she could easily report any threat back to Jacob or Victoria.

But I had already anticipated this.

On Monday morning, Jacob left for his trip. At ten o'clock sharp, Victoria arrived at our apartment.

"Mona, dear, I'm here," she said, offering a tight, polite smile as she immediately marched over to the cage. "How is our sweet Margret doing?"

"She's doing wonderful, Mrs. Eleanor."

She tapped on the bars, and the parrot immediately cooed and nuzzled her finger.

"Good girl," Victoria murmured with satisfaction.

She turned to look at me, her eyes sharp and calculating despite her warm smile. "Jacob cares deeply about this bird. It was left to him by a very important... friend. You must take proper care of her."

"I understand."

I poured her a cup of tea and sat across from her, silently counting the hours.

Today was Monday. Jacob would be back on Wednesday night.

I had exactly three days.

And Victoria would be watching my every move.

In my past life, these three days had been the absolute peak of my mental collapse. Locked in the apartment with a hostile spirit and a suspicious guardian, I had been unable to escape.

But in this life, these three days were my only window of opportunity. Once Jacob returned, I wouldn't get another chance, and my physical body couldn't afford to wait. Even if my mind was strong, the spiritual drain of the ritual was a physical reality; as long as the parrot could speak, she would continue to siphon my life force.

I had to act now.

By Monday afternoon, Victoria was knitting on the sofa while the parrot rested quietly in her cage.

I sat at the dining table, pretending to read a book.

Suddenly, the parrot opened her beak.

"I don't want to live anymore."

My own voice echoed through the quiet apartment, sharp and jarring.

Victoria glanced up from her knitting, casting a cold look at me before returning to her work. She didn't say a word.

I turned another page of my book.

"I don't want to live anymore."

Again, the voice rang out.

Victoria set her knitting needles down, offering a small, mocking smile.

"Margret is so clever, dear. She mimics you perfectly."

"She certainly does," I replied with a calm smile. "It's almost uncanny."

That night, Victoria insisted on taking the bird cage into her bedroom. Before she closed the door, she gave me a final warning.

"Make sure her food and water are filled on time tomorrow. Don't forget."

"I won't, Mrs. Eleanor."

The bedroom door clicked shut.

I leaned against the wall, staring at the empty living room. The ghost of Margret was probably laughing in that room, convinced she was completely safe under Victorias watchful eye.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I had saved weeks ago.

"Hello, Dr. Ross? Yes, this is Mona. I need to schedule that vocal cord removal surgery for the parrot tomorrow."

On Tuesday morning, Victoria woke up early. She opened a newly arrived package containing premium import birdseed.

"This is the best brand on the market," she said, pouring the seed into the tray. "Full of nutrients. Our Margret is going to love it."

The parrot ate eagerly, nuzzling her hand.

I sat at the table, checking my watch. It was 10:15 AM.

I had exactly three hours and forty-five minutes.

The morning dragged on with agonizing slowness. I maintained my usual routine; reading, cleaning, and refilling Victorias tea.

The parrot, perhaps sensing some unspoken tension, became increasingly aggressive.

She snatched one of my silver earrings from the vanity, holding it in her beak and refusing to let go. When Victoria saw this, she only laughed.

"Oh, look! Margret loves shiny things. Just let her play with it, dear."

"Of course," I said smoothly.

A few minutes later, the bird flew over to my purse, unzipped the compartment, and pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, shredding them to pieces.

The green paper scattered across the floor.

Victoria barely looked up. "You really shouldn't leave your purse out, Mona. She's just a curious little thing."

I knelt to gather the shredded paper, remaining silent.

The parrot perched on top of her cage, looking down at me with her head tilted. Then, she opened her beak.

"I don't want to live anymore."

First time.

"I don't want to live anymore."

Second time.

"I don't want to live anymore."

Third time.

Victoria finally frowned, but her glare was directed entirely at me.

"Mona, do you constantly mutter those depressing words around the house? No wonder the bird is repeating them."

"I don't"

"Young people need to have a more positive attitude," she interrupted, her voice turning sharp and accusatory. "Jacob works so hard to provide for you. The least you can do is not burden him with your constant negativity. Telling everyone you don't want to live... what is he supposed to think of you?"

I pressed my lips together, looking appropriately chastised.

"You're right, Mrs. Eleanor. I'll do better."

Victoria nodded with satisfaction and returned to her knitting.

On top of the cage, the parrot fluttered her wings, letting out that sharp, mocking laugh.

Margrets laugh.

She thought she had won. With Victoria protecting her and Jacob backing her, she believed I was completely powerless.

She was dead wrong.

I checked the clock. It was 1:45 PM.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Dr. Ross.

Miss Mona, the surgical instruments are prepared. My assistant and I are ready.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but my face remained a mask of perfect calm. I stood up and walked over to the cage.

Victorias eyes narrowed instantly. "Where are you taking Margret? Jacob specifically forbade you from taking her out of the apartment!"

I took a slow, deep breath, letting my hands relax.

"I'm not going outside, Mrs. Eleanor. Margret looks a bit unwell. I think she threw up some of that new seed."

Victorias face immediately filled with concern. "What? Let me see."

"She's fine, I just need to take her to the guest bathroom to clean her beak."

"Oh. Go on then."

I opened the cage door and slid my hand inside. The parrot instinctively tried to retreat, but my grip was swift and precise. I clamped my fingers firmly around the base of her wings, pulling her out of the cage.

She began to thrash violently, opening her beak to shriek.

"I don't"

I quickly muffled her beak with my other hand, marching swiftly into the guest bedroom and locking the door behind me.

Dr. Ross and his assistant were already waiting by the window, having slipped in quietly through the first-floor patio.

The desk had been converted into a sterile surgical station, complete with a small operating light, anesthetics, and delicate scalpels.

Dr. Ross stood up, looking at the blue bird in my hands.

"This is the one? She looks quite healthy. Are you sure you want to go through with this? It's a costly procedure for an in-home visit."

"Yes," I said without a shred of hesitation. "She has a behavioral issue where she screams profanities and threats constantly. It's becoming a safety hazard."

"Ah, I see. Very well, let's get started."

I placed the thrashing parrot onto the table.

Her eyes stretched wide with panic, her beak clicking open and shut as she desperately tried to scream.

"No! No!"

My own voice, filled with terror, squeaked out from her throat.

But the assistant held her down, and Dr. Ross quickly administered the anesthetic. Within seconds, the parrots frantic movements began to slow, her eyes lidding with sleep.

"Shes a feisty one," Dr. Ross murmured, preparing his scalpel. "But don't worry. This is a simple, ten-minute procedure."

I leaned down, bringing my face close to her fading gaze.

She stared back at me, her eyes filled with a desperate, silent terror.

I offered her a cold, vicious smile.

"Margret, in this life, no one is going to save you."

The scalpel gleamed in the light.

The parrots eyes closed completely.