Requiem of the Owl

After I walked for a while I came across a hut that had been emptied. No one lived there except burnt out twigs used to light a small fire. I was alone and somewhere in the distance heard the sounds of catabasis.

It was late noon when I saw the owl making its way across the nearby sky-forms. I moved my head about 5 feet northwest via standing up and peering toward the window. The owl entered my window.

“a triumphant tale of a long journey,” she said.

I nodded. It was as she had said.

Outside there was a dog wounded, chained to a tree by a trap. Its leg was chewed with steel. It attempted to make human noises, and the sound was hideous. All it ended up making was a “How-ow” sound, something like “Come back” or “Don’t go” or “Help me.” Decidedly bisyllabic.

Realizing, the owl departed before I had any time to think. I couldn’t make a response I just sat there staring at the dog, and now the owl was gone.

It flew back sometime later. Things felt different. I was less inside the situation and more inside the wall separating the situation from the remainder of the surrounding universe. But maybe it was just because the longing I had felt to go home was so strong. Maybe it was just because I missed the land of the Sleepy Morning, and I myself a person with a name and a world.

The owl hooted. I thought I last saw it with its head cut off. It dropped off a bag. The bag was made of dark and luscious silk. I opened the bag.

Inside the bag there was a button. The button made a “ey-ey-fizzshhhcadune” sound when I pushed it. The button revealed a world I step inside.

nothing.  whiteness.  you can poke through skin of white to reveal oscillating patterns of

color, and you can poke through the color to reveal blackness.

The door closed. My thoughts returned to the most precious object I saw there. I’m mad I’m back here. I miss it. I notice the owl is gone. I forage what I can from the hut’s interior and move in the direction of the sun. Maybe The Long Divide will be there.

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About vurinstitute

Horatio Somersault is the Director and Regent Chancellor of the VUR Institute, a think tank involving some as-yet-unknown and slightly spooky manipulations of time and interdimensionality. In his spare time Somersault enjoys writing poems and fables. You can read his writings, as well as those of other VUR inhabitants, at vurinstitute.wordpress.com. Though he lives a wanderer's life, his hometown is a domed biome inside the water core of the moon Europa. You can follow his experiences adapting to the customs of the early 21st century on his Twitter @VURdirector and can email him at vurinstitute at gmail dot com.
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