Superstitions are beliefs. They’re practices resulting from a number of things—sheer ignorance, blind trust in magic or chance, fear of the unknown abyss, or just a false sense of idea in causation and the like. They can be coincidences, most if not all of them are. Even if there are evidence or arguments that prove otherwise, superstitions are like a fly just buzzing about everywhere—from traditions and myths to the use of a tinfoil hat and believing some things are either bad luck or good luck. Like what I believe about Alex.
Alex was an albino budgerigar. With a white plumage, red eyes, pink ceres, and pink legs; the albino is extremely difficult to know what sex it is. For that reason, I named my bird something gender-neutral.
Alex was also weird, flying in circles inside my room and pooping strictly on my bed. Not only that but Alex was believed to be a bird of bad luck by my family. Being an albino budgie meant that Alex has bloodshot eyes that looked as if they are an angel of death. In every squawking session, there was someone drowning nearby. You could imagine how weirded out me and my family was whenever we hear an ambulance some time after Alex stopped being noisy. People drown near where we live and it was almost always tourists. The beach resorts made signs telling people to not take selfies near the water. There were signs everywhere that the rocks were slippery. So then one thought comes to mind, what if Alex really is an angel of death?
"Caw! Caw! Squaaaaaawwk!"
I sighed as I continued typing in my laptop, "Someone's gone die."
Alex landed on my hand and I typed without moving it. It made me feel like Alex was some kind of black cat or something. When I smelled something awful, I realized that it was me. Looks like it was bath time.