The Owl

Whenever seen she was feared. A hunter.

Today she sits alone in her home. The bell rings.

“Who’s there?” She calls.

“A friend, with a tale of torment.” The mysterious voice replies.

She floats down the stairs, and lets the stranger inside.

“I’ve never seen you here before, but I feel as though I know you.” “You knew my eldest living relative, when he was my age. He said you wouldn’t forget him.”

“Only a fool seeks a woman alone. What has brought you?” “I have for you a gift from him. He will sleep soon.” She gasps.

“Is it time already for me to say goodbye?” She begs wistfully. “It’s been a lifetime.” He replies.

She looks down. “Well, what is it you have?”

“He opens the box, and a mermaid perched on a rock is sculpted beautifully in stalagmite.

“She sings.” He explains.

She gazes fondly. “Do you know how?”

His head slightly shakes; embarrassed, he breaks eye contact, and returns his look to the mermaid.

“He thought you’d appreciate a new friend in his absence.”

She motions for him to hand her over, and so he does. She smirks, takes the mermaid holding her into her chest, and turns to go upstairs.

“Please, some tea.” She says softly.

“I’d be honored.” He obeys.

Upstairs, they sit in cozy armchairs by the lit fireplace. The mermaid rests on the table in between as if she were to join tea time. Our host prepares, and pours a warm pot of tea for herself and her guest.

“You must be brave to come here at night.”

“As you said, I’m brave to come here at all.”

“Brave wasn’t my word of choice.”

“Forgive me, I see little difference.”

The two share a chuckle.

“It’s wonderful, the world produces some humans worth living alongside.”

He laughs heartily, but briefly.

“Well, with two chairs for one, visits cannot be that rare.”

He chuckles nervously, and awaits a response—any response. She just frowns, and stares into his eyes. He looks down.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he trails off.

She stands up, holding her tea cup and slowly makes her way over to, and stands by the window. She breathes deeply looking peacefully up above. The visitor watches, and turns his head after realizing he’s been staring.

“I love the way the moon sends messages to her readers.” She states after some time.

“Readers?” He presses curiously.

“If you believe you are lucky enough to gaze at something so beautiful without any thoughts in your head, your ego is undoubtedly larger than your view.”

He thinks on her words.

“She sends a message to her viewers. ‘Read me. Tell me why you love to look. I brighten everything around me, and so you need not look my way at all, but I won’t harm you like the sun; so for that alone, do you truly believe you’re worthy of such a sight?’”

“I have the moon to thank for such a safe journey to you.” He admits.

She nods gently. “Me too.”

He straightens himself out, and scooches to the edge of his seat. “You know, the old man…” he begins.

“I know you have a tale,” she interrupts “but please hear mine first. I wish not to forget your words when you go.” He nods, and sits back in his chair.

“He and I, we’d have so much fun.”

She slowly walks over to her chair, and sits comfortably. She places her tea cup on the table between them.

“He would visit often. Sometimes it was as if he’d sleep right outside. I could feel when he was near.”

He places his cup down beside hers, and folds his hands to listen closely.

“I felt like the world was small. The forest never ended, and we could get lost for hours.” She smiles at her visitor, and solemnly continues.

“He told me he dreamed of living in exile. He’d be happy alone somewhere with his family.”

The visitor makes a face.

“Yes, that sounds odd, doesn’t it?”

He nods slowly.

“I wanted to go wherever, whenever he wanted to take me, but he had no idea. He eventually left to live his life, and promised he’d return. I’m happy you’re here to deliver the message he could never. Please, tell me.”

“He’s lived his life loving you, and he wishes you well. It’s sad to know he’s leaving, but he leaves you this spell. In this siren is a love song, given to you by his soul. He may have made a life for himself, but you were always his unfulfilled goal.”

“Thank you. You may go now.”

As the visitor stands, a cat immediately takes his seat, and sits perched as if it were waiting for the spot to be free. He looks to his host, remembering his earlier comment, but she only stares toward the way out.

The visitor exits her home, and she closes the door behind him.

Once she returns to the upper level where they sat, she grabs the figurine, and walks her over to the closet.

She stares for a moment at her remarkable craftsmanship; and feels lightly over the grooves of her scaly tail, and smiles at the softness of her skin.

Standing at the closet, she opens the door, and on the many shelves there are figurines filling every free space.

There are small ones, large ones, and some that are poorly or cheaply made. She has some with sequins and glitter, and some, a few, made of precious diamond. The mermaids have loving fragments from the souls of sailors passed.

The true, yet too late love, is still somehow welcome.

She closes the closet door after finding a safe spot for her newest one. She walks over to the mirror. Her feathers have been ruffled quite a bit.

The owl staring at her says, “When will we be a woman? When will we have our own loving family? When shall the curse of the wise owl be lifted?” The owl cries to herself.

Finally, she takes a deep breath, flies to the roof of her home, and sings to the moon.

The mermaids below join in, unable to resist a mournful siren song.