There’s a Zombie Outside Your Door

I never imagined that I would ever be at a time of Zombie Apocalypse, let alone be stuck with a Parakeet in an unprecedented time like this. 

Of all the animals in the world, why a Parakeet? It could be a dog, who can help me fight the bloody zombies, or a cat, who will just sleep in one corner, or a Gold Fish, that won’t make a single sound and a potential meal should I starve in case of food shortage. 

Before the outbreak happened, my neighbor brought home this noisy Parakeet one summer night. He placed the cage on his balcony which was just, right beside my balcony. At the beginning it was alright, as this cute skinny chick was making just very tiny cooing sounds whenever it was hungry. But that’s about it. 

It grew up pretty fast and would cry so loud in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes, the neighbor, Mr. Jones would even let it out of its cage. I was still sleeping one Sunday morning when I heard a consistent sound, like that of a water dripping or a clock ticking.  

And to my horror, I woke up to a face of a green Parakeet looking at me through my window, pecking on it as if knocking and waking me up. 

I jumped out of bed and went to the sliding door to my balcony to shout at Mr. Jones and ask him to put this bird back to the cage. As I opened the door it flew towards me so I had to shut the door quickly before it gets into my house and wreck it. I stood there for good ten minutes and the bloody Parakeet was in for a staring contest with me. I walked to the right side of my door and it followed. I walked to the left side and it followed. I ran into my bedroom again and it flew right into my bedroom window and stared at me again. I was really scared. This Parakeet is worse than a stalker. 

I went out of my apartment and knocked at Mr. Jones’. 

He opened the door with one eye still close, his hair in a mess, his left face has its bed marks on it. 

‘It’s Sunday morning,’ he said in an almost cracking voice. 

‘Mr. Jones, your bird is scaring the wits out of me. I don’t like pets in the first place, let alone a neighbor's persistent one like this. Can you please put it inside a cage or I’ll have someone catch it and put it into a frying pan with boiling oil!’ 

‘Alright,’ was the only word that he was able to say. 

I went back to my apartment. The bloody Parakeet was still at my balcony, waiting for me outside the glass sliding door. I heard Mr. Jones whistling. The bird flew to his balcony and I heard him lock the cage. 

I like animals when I see them on photos or videos, especially when they look small and cute and cuddly but I don’t like the idea of having them at home and taking care of them. I don’t like playful dogs and cats let alone a bird that goes into your head, ruins your hair with a probability of also pooping on you. 

The second incident with this bloody Parakeet was when I came home from work. I took the elevator up to the 3rd floor where my apartment is and when the elevator door opened, the bloody Parakeet was standing outside. I didn’t know what to do. I slowly took my sling bag out of my body and I thought of using it as my protector in case this bird flies to me. And it did. It flew towards the lift so I ran screaming and swinging my bag left and right on top of my head so the Parakeet won’t land on my head or shoulder, until I reached my door. There was Mr. Jones standing in front of his door looking at me.  

Half astonished, half stifling into laughter. The bird flew and landed into his shoulder. 

‘I am warning you Mr. Jones. You keep this bird outside its cage and you won’t see it again!’ I told him as my shaking hand tried to open the door with my key. 

I never saw the bird flying freely again after that but I kept hearing its loud cries at random times. Probably when it’s hungry. But that’s okay as long as it doesn’t come to me or to my window or to my balcony. 

And then the outbreak happened. I couldn’t get out of my apartment for months and on. My food storage is running low. I can only see the undead everywhere; on the corridors of this building when I look through the peephole and at the road when I look down from the balcony. 

Whenever I accidentally make a noise, they all suddenly come rushing in front of my door. The building is filled with eerie silence, light footsteps, howls and grunts from the undead. Nobody knew why the undead are very sensitive to sound. Nobody knew that what we have seen on movies and series would ever come true. Nobody knew that the zombies that I have killed thousand times in a game with shooting green peas and watermelons and cherry bombs would someday come to life and hunt me. 

But if we knew that this time would come, wouldn’t we have Zombie subjects or courses? If Zoology is the study of animals, maybe we could have called the study of Zombies, Zombology? If we have studied the nature of them, we would have known by now how to survive this disaster. We could have known what will eliminate them and if we could really cultivate plants in our garden that could kill them. 

I wonder if Mr. Jones and his Parakeet is still alive and in his apartment. I never heard the bloody bird for months during this catastrophe. If it had made a sound, the zombies would surely hunt it and break open Mr. Jones’ door. And for goodness sake, just as I was thinking about it, I saw it standing outside the sliding door of the balcony. It looked famished, skin and bones. I gently closed the curtains of the sliding door so it won’t see me. I walked to my room to close the curtains of my window. I prayed it would fly away. If it makes even the slightest sound, the undead will start running towards my door and break it. A noisy Parakeet is the last thing I would want on this kind of situation. 

My grandma used to tell me that when you talk or think about someone and this person suddenly appears in front of you, this person would have a long life. I don’t usually believe in superstitions but my beloved grandma has a lot of it and I can’t help but remember them every time she comes into my mind. That I thought of Mr. Jones and the Parakeet and only the latter appeared, could the bird really have a long life? Could Mr. Jones be dead by now? I don't even know why I had to bother about Mr. Jones and this bird. And to be honest I shouldn't be bothered who among Mr. Jones and his pet Parakeet would have a long life. 

I should be bothered about two things: 1) All the undead roaming around the hallway; and 2) that they can all attack once this Parakeet makes any noise. 

I peeped through the curtains from time to time hoping that the bird has gone only to find it firmly standing there. 

One evening I heard soft cries from the Parakeet. It must be really starving. I felt bad for not even giving it food or water. It's been there for days. But then I thought it should have been flying away and hunting for food or looking for water as survival instinct, yet it kept standing their waiting for mercy. 

I looked at my cupboard and saw my last packet of whole grain biscuit. I am torn between giving some bits to the Parakeet and save its life or keep all this remaining packet for me to save my own life as I am running out of food already. 

I kept walking back and forth my kitchen table. Thinking so hard of what’s best for me to do. 

I finally made up my mind. I would give this Parakeet a piece of biscuit and a cup of water. I opened half of the curtain of the sliding door to the balcony. The poor bird was still standing there. I opened the sliding door, slowly, trying not to make any sound. The Parakeet stared at me. It looked weird. Its eyes were deep red. It has dry blood on its wings and neck. Before I realized it and tried to close the sliding door, it already flew to me. I screamed and ran away from it and as I did, I stumbled into my furniture and again, before I realized it, I already made so much noise. 

I can already imagine all the undead outside the hallway lining up in front of my door, trying to break in as well as those outside who heard my screams from the open door of my balcony that must be trying to climb up now to the third floor of the building. 

I kept screaming as the literally, bloody Parakeet kept chasing me. It doesn’t just peck anymore. It is now, biting. 

I never saw this coming. I never thought a Parakeet could become a zombie too. 

I ran to my bedroom and took the long steel pipe that I kept for times like this.  

'I'm sorry Grandma, but I have to prove your superstition wrong this time.'