Bloodberry

There was a grey parrot that grew red feathers one morning because he dreamed of strawberries. Or at least that’s what he thought.

He woke up all baffled by his transformation, wet in his bed from the phallic visions he had last night, hungry for sour-sweet gulps of heavenly pulp. He looked at his wings and was too tempted to suck and chew on them out of desperation. He decided to fly to put his mind off of things.

As he flapped away, he drove himself into a spiral of blue and red as his wings merged with the sky in a frantic blur. Drowned in the vortex of want and need he dove down to the ground and landed in a strawberry field. He lost consciousness for a minute, maybe ten. Woke up to find that his beak had pierced a giant succulent strawberry that held his beak tightly shut. ‘Curses! I hate strawberries,’ he thought. And as the juices from the pierced strawberry trickled into the side of his beak and underneath his tongue, a tear mirrored the movement down the other cheek.

He walked towards the shade of a strawberry bush where he found a pile of strawberries. He nestled there in the midst of what is dearest to him, closed his eyes, and waited… for death to come.