Chapter 2: The past, revisited
This place, this darkness, took me back once again. I give it so little yet it gives me so much.
But the darkness is not perfect. It's the same as any other being or entity in the universe. Anybody could try to be perfect, and some individuals may seem to appear perfect, but nobody is truly perfect. Not even the darkness. Not the light for that matter. If any of us were perfect, than that would ruin one of our greatest strengths as sentient beings.
The ability to better oneself and improve upon what has already been established in our lives, and in our hearts.
Now that I've got that out of the way, (Me being here was starting to make me think like some sort of philosopher or something, which by no means am I one, going on and on about stupid stuff would probably be more correct. I had to do something in here, it might as well be productive, or insightful. If I didn't do that, I'd end up at an owl mental asylum, if they even have that) I should talk more about the situation I found myself in back in the living world.
More specifically, the living owl world. A world that I'm going to be in for quite a long time, if I did not manage to die twice.
However, if I did indeed perish in the fires, what could that mean for me? Am I dead for good this time? Why would me, of all people, be given a second chance (a rather unnecessary and frankly unwanted one at that) if I ended up dying unceremoniously from something I had virtually no control over? That defeats the purpose of a second chance. It wouldn't be the first time I died due to outside forces...
To begin again. A fresh start on the path of life.
It didn't make any sense to me. I wonder if fate (that fickle scoundrel of a thing) wanted to keep me on my toes. Or would it be talons now? Maybe it's just laughing its ass off because of my unfair beginning? Or… could have it been something else? Perhaps, someone else?
I always had my doubts about the existence of otherworldly beings who either lived in the skies above or in the deepest depths of the earth, forever burning in pain and agony. I doubt that they and their realms really do exist in another plane far removed from our own. If they did, wouldn't I have been sent to one of them? This place, this darkness, did not feel like anything like how people back home described them to be.
There was no eternal fires of damnation, and yet, there was also no heavenly singing from angels above, and endless clouds filled with pure light. This place could not be a purgatory, for that implied that I was to be judged for my actions, and would eventually be sent to one or the other. How could I be judged if there was no one there to judge me? Especially if now I'm…
I mentally sighed to myself, catching myself in the act of rambling off like a lunatic. I should try to get back to what was really important. What actually mattered in the long run.
What if I didn't die?
So if I did manage to survive, and that voice that reached out to me before everything went silent saved me from yet another untimely demise (even if I think I don't deserve this, after everything that just happened, I don't want to go through it all over again, it's way, way too early for that), what would happen next?
My questions would have to wait once more, so they set themselves upon the growing pile of things that needed to be explained sooner or later. The darkness slowly dissipated, leaving only the blankness of light behind.
Wait, what? This only happened once, and that was when I came into this world for the first time. That kind of light was sort of comforting to me. I felt calm when I saw it.
This light, for whatever reason, did not. It didn't feel like it at all. My vision started to clear up, and I could actually see my own body. My own, human body.
Before it started rotting in the ground. Before the pain and suffering.
My current attire was the one I always wore right before everything was ripped away from me. A black hoodie with three white stripes going down each sleeve, blue jeans that were ripped in a few places, and black sports shoes. My choice in what color my clothes were always gravitated towards black, which technically was considered to be the absence of color itself. I never really got out of that "Rebellious punk" phase.
My surroundings shifted to a very familiar scenery, one I have known for almost all my life. It was… my home. Right in front of me, the home I was raised in, the one that helped make me who I am right now. An unassuming two story house built with brick and mortar.
I walked towards the front door hastily and pulled it open, not noticing how my home was the only thing in sight, with a sea of everlasting white surrounding it from all sides. I didn't care, I just wanted to see for my own eyes. No, I needed to see it, if this was going to be the last time I could be here and interact with it, I needed to make it special. Something that I hope I won't forget for a very, very long time.
A comforting kitchen awaited me at the front door, almost beckoning to me. I can still remember me and my parents preparing meals for the family. The smell of a good old fashioned home cooked meal. Rocky endlessly wagging his tail for the food that would inevitably be given to him at the dinner table. We didn't feed him every time, but when we did, we made it special. For both him and us.
He sadly wasn't here to greet me.
I opened the refrigerator, and was greeted to an assortment of all kinds of foods. Blocks of cheese (Me and my mom hated those cheap generic no name brand slices of cheese) ranging from cheddar and Colby Jack to Swiss . A gallon of milk on the top shelf, leftovers from previous dinners packed into containers with red lids on top of them. I reached into the fridge and grabbed one of them to see what was in it. I removed the lid, but I was dumbfounded that what I just opened did not have anything in it.
Is this some kind of joke?
The living room was next, right beside the dining room. A large comfy brown couch that I've slept on countless times, two armchairs on opposite sides of the room, with a large tv leaning on one of the walls, resting on top of a long table, with a movie player right next to it. A black cabinet chocked full of all kinds of movies, for kids and adults, animated, live action, you name it, we probably had it. Next to the cabinet was a calendar, proudly displaying the image of an eagle spreading its wings in the sunlight. My family was well known for reusing the same things year after year, and this calendar was just one of the things that we couldn't get rid of. The current date was January 22nd, with a single word written underneath.
"Departure"
I tried turning the tv on but all I got was a static screen. Apparently, it seems we didn't have cable. I distinctly remember having cable but beggars can't be choosers. I opened the cabinet, hoping that maybe I could watch a movie or two before I left. As I rummaged through the rows of movie cases, Nothing particularly caught my eye, but I settled on a movie that I've kind of been ashamed to admit that I liked.
The movie itself was very good, a nice and easy to understand message at the end, memorable music and characters, jokes that were on point almost all the time. It was just the other people that viewed it that makes me a bit embarrassed to watch with someone else. If there was one thing I don't miss at all, it would be the utter depravity that some people possessed. Didn't help that the movie itself not so subtly pandered to that demographic, but I can't blame the movie makers for wanting to make a little extra money.
But… if there's no people around to see me, I guess I could watch it anyway. I opened the case, expecting to find the disc of the movie packed inside, instead there was nothing. I threw the case on the ground, frustrated that I couldn't even watch something as simple as a movie. I opened more cases, but all of them turned out to be empty. I didn't bother putting them back, there's nobody here to tell me to pick them up.
I was still alone. Even in here, in my childhood home, I was reminded of that. My home didn't mean much if nobody else was there with me. At least I have memories of my life. I don't plan on forgetting them. That's all that mattered. As long as I have them, I'll be alright.
If I lose them, what's the point of moving forward if I can't remember the past?
I looked towards the stairs, where my room was. If anything, I should visit that last. I still wanted to go upstairs, so I walked on the many creaking stairs that made anything that required discretion no longer viable. I looked at the multiple picture frames strewed all across the walls, of better times long since past. Photos of me, and my family.
I opened the door to my parents bedroom, and nothing was out of the ordinary. Their bed was still smack dab in the middle of the room, a large queen sized mattress and frame. Dressers that I will admit were a little drab and uninteresting. I moved on to the bathroom, next to my own room. As much as I want to go inside my sister's room and mess up everything in it, there was no point to it.
Why mess with someone's stuff if they aren't even there to get angry at you?
While we did have two bathrooms; only one could be considered a "real" bathroom. That bathroom was upstairs. Which meant that most of the time, I had to compete with my sister in a race of who could get in first and lock the door. Both me and her found that part out the hard way.
I opened the bathroom door and went inside. Nothing too spectacular and nothing too glamorous for a family like us. There was the usual white sink and bathtub with equally white floor tiles. A mirror standing at attention above the sink. I took a good long look at my reflection… I didn't want to forget what I used to be.
My unkempt dirty blonde hair that went down to my neck, tired blue eyes, a linear scar going across my right cheek (One of my friends had the great idea of trying to shave me with a dirty razor, you can guess how that turned out), and a rather insignificant patch of hair on my chin.
The rest of my features were covered by my clothing, but you could tell from just looking at me that I was the definition of "skinny". Bony elbows, legs like twigs, you get the idea. Exercising was never my top priority, yet I never gained any weight.
As I ran a hand over my head of disheveled hair, I turned my attention to my room. The last place that I wanted to see. I turned the doorknob to my room, but right before I entered, I heard a strange noise that gave me a cold chill.
A baby was crying… in my own room.
Whose baby is in my room?! My parents stopped having kids when I was born, so why was there a baby in my own room? I kicked open the door, making a loud bang that echoed throughout the house, the crying coming to a sudden stop. In the middle of my own room, there was a crib. A crib, with a now silent baby inside. Am I going insane? Am I imagining this right now? Is any of this even real anymore?
Apprehensively, I approached the clearly out of place toddler's bed. My eyes widened at the stark realization that this baby was not normal. It wasn't even human.
It's an owl…
A tiny little white puffball of a bird was in the crib. It was so small and meek, with its eyes closed shut, I almost felt sorry for it. Almost. This thing, this creature… it's why I'm here. I knew it is, It had to be. It made me almost die in a goddamn tree. It made me die without saying goodbye to my family.
It made me sick. I won't let them in my house. My home, they can't have it!
It belongs to me, nobody else!
My anger had reached to a boiling point. I grabbed it by its feeble neck, clutching it in my hands as one who hold a doll. I made sure that my grasp was not so firm as to wake the demon up from its slumber, and I cautiously walked to the window. I put it on the middle of my bed(I really hope that the washing machine still works) and I began to open the window. As if I couldn't get more frustrated, the window refused to budge. I knew my window was pretty shitty, but now was not the time. My attempts at doing this with finesse and stealth ended in failure. So I decided on "Smashing the stupid thing in with my trusty baseball bat,".
I heft the metal bat with my hands, a stylish red signature near the top. A gift from my father when I was still interested in the sport. A gift that will deliver me from grace, that will take me home.
I swing the metallic bat full force at the window, shattering the glass into dozens of pieces. I use the bat to push away the remaining shards outside, before turning to the animal in my bed. The tiny bird cries like a little monster, inhuman in sound and nature, mocking me. I clench my fists in anger before tightly grabbing the owl in my hands, the cries of the avian creature becoming more frantic, as it tries to escape from my clutches.
I hold out my arms outside the window, a two story height was more than enough to end its life, without me having to bash its brains out. I don't need its blood staining the walls of my room. Its attempts at escaping physically had finally ceased. Before I let go of the owl, its eyes opened, boring right into my very own soul.
My entire body shook like the leaves of a tree in the verdant spring breeze. Once I set down the owl in my bed, I clasped my hands to my mouth, shocked at what I had just saw. It has been said countless times throughout the ages, what you use to perceive the world around you can also give you a glimpse into the souls of others. The saying had never been more true in my life than right now, as I gazed into the dark blue pools of the night, I saw nothing more than a child.
It's not his fault for taking me away from my home, my family and friends. It's not mine either.
I don't deserve this… and neither did him. I want to go home, and he shouldn't be in mine.
A dark and dreary night sky looms overhead. One could see a vehicle carrying a group of adolescents on the only road in sight. As it moves through the many twists and turns, it begins to teeter more and more off the road, veering into the wrong lane. A voice could be heard shouting over the drunken excitement of the three. A voice telling the driver to pull over, that they've had enough and wanted to go home. It didn't get its wish, and the others scoffed at its unwillingness to "let loose, and quit being a stick in the mud."
Only the voice saw the oncoming truck heading straight for them. The inebriated banter of the three quickly turned to screams of terror. The driver tried to evade the truck by swerving to the right, and just barely grazed the truck, the loud honking of both of the vehicles dampened the sounds of frights as both cars drove straight into the old oak trees. All of the screams stopped, and only the repeating noise of the horn could be heard in the forest.
It appeared that all of the occupants in the death trap of a car, had been fatally killed in the crash. All but one of them. It was the one that wanted to go home.
A boy surrounded by death, misery and pain, in a sea of trees. His arm had been severely wounded from the debris, bloodied, battered and bruised from the sudden impact. Using his good arm, he carefully managed to unbuckle himself from the seat, and pushed the door open. He looked back at them, they who were now permanently silenced by death. He went outside, and instantly felt a sharp, searing pain running down all over his leg, and fell down to the ground.
His leg was broken…
He could see that the bone was not pushing out, yet he could still feel the bone fragments tearing apart skin and muscle, like a thousand blades simultaneously stabbing themselves into him. An unbearable pain combined with the multiple cuts and bruises dotted all across his body. The cold autumn winds picked up in their intensity, almost like they were waiting for him, mocking him.
Gritting his teeth, he desperately tried to get back up on his feet, yet every time he did, the pain only increased more and more. He decided to crawl away from the wreckage. The unintentional man-made gravesite of three unsuspecting teenagers, who only wanted a good time.
Crawling to an untouched oak tree, he looked at the night sky. No moon was out, but the stars above shone brightly, piercing through the veiled darkness. Past the sounds of the car, he could hear the forest wildlife. A familiar sound of crickets endlessly chirping for their mates.
Then he heard something that he had never heard before in real life. Of course he had searched videos of them on the internet, but they paled in comparison to the real, unfiltered version of this lovely sounding being.
The sound of an owl hooting…
It was such a calming song of Mother Nature, that gave him some semblance of peace from his troubles. The pain was drowned out over the unwritten songs of an owl claiming the land for their own. With a slight smile on his face, he closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep. He wouldn't be waking up for some time… he did not hear the sounds of a pack of wolves, howling in the forest. Hungry for their next meal.
Unbeknownst to the roaming predators of the woods, a wanderer from another place, another world, was getting ready to fight them off. They were willing to save him from death, so that he could live to fight another day. They were willing to die for him.
After all… who else could save their old home, than someone who was about to leave his?
