The Barn

His feet patted the compact snow on the road.

A snow storm had come through a few hours before and created three foot banks of snow on either side of the road. A thick flurry of snowflakes danced down towards the earth before him.

They never knew him. They never understood him. His mother and step-father had always looked down on him, felt pity for him. He reached sixteen but, because he hadn’t gotten a job and established himself in an apartment, they coddled him as if he couldn’t take care of himself.

He grew tired of their lack of respect. He had taken everything he owned, put it into a backpack, and walked out the front door without looking back even once. That was two months ago. “I’ll make a life for myself,” he thought.

He did not know where he was going, but he knew that once he got there he would know where he belonged.

A month ago, he began to doubt if he had made the right decision, because he ran out of food. His hopes were restored when he came across a couple rushing home from a road trip, because of a family emergency. Their car had a blow out and he helped them replace the tire. They gave him some money and he spent it at the first store he spotted in the distance.

He had rationed it well enough, but he stock was wearing thin. For a moment his hope began to wane once again, then they were crushed completely.

The wind blasted into him so hard he thought he might’ve gotten hit by a car. He crashed to the ground and most of his things scattered across the road, stolen by the violent gust. He clung to his pack, it carried the last of his food. His troubles had only begun.

What little light he had seen was no swallowed in a frigid blizzard. The onslaught of white screamed angrily in his ears. It was so loud he could not hear his own voice screaming back in desperation.

His foot plunged into the embankment and he slid down trapping himself in a pit of icy snow. He clawed and dug frantically. The torrent was quickly filling his pit tempting it to become a tomb.

His stiff hand brushed smooth wood. He felt forward and grabbed the wooden fence post. He found the barbed wire and vaulted over.

He pressed forward, trying to find some sort of shelter. He groped around blindly, smacking his numb hands on an ice-covered tree. The pain was as blinding as the storm.

The thought finally sank in, “I am going to die out here.” His blood surged through his veins and his heart pounded in his chest.

“I will not die here,” he screamed into the deafening wind. His fought harder than before, stepping high and stomping into the snow for solid footing. He made progress, but his energy was being stolen by the wind as well. His breath began to follow freezing in his lungs. The cold air gnawed on every inch of exposed skin.

When he caught a small breath, he staggered forward a little more, with all his might. It wasn’t enough he fell forward and landed on a steep slope in front of him, frozen underneath a foot of new snow. Maybe the snow would steal him away as well.

He tried one last time, if he had any energy left he spent it, telling his fingers to grip and climb. He was not sure they obeyed until the felt the crust of frozen snow break. He fell down through the hole and tumbled onto the floor.

Warm air kissed his numb skin. Orange light danced around the interior of the barn. His eyes searched for the source. A fire in a two sided fireplace radiated with heat and hope.

As the the storm roared outside and shook the barn, a new energy filled him and he wildly crawled towards the flames. His hands still could not remember how to move.

His eyes filled with tears and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He would not die today, he would not die here.

He grabbed his pack by the one strap that survived the beginning of the blizzard and peered inside. The fall had ripped a hole in the side and all but the bag that held three slices of bread was left.

He pulled it out and opened it. As he nibbled on a slice, he contemplated what he was going to do and he had no idea.

Something slammed hard into the side of the barn outside. His heart began to race again. “What now?” He said aloud.

Whatever it was, it slammed into the shudders of the window on the upper level of the barn. It bumped it again shaking them and then he heard it cry above the howling storm.

He hurried up the ladder and walked towards the window. It screeched frantically. As he unlatched the window, the wind threw the doors open. Snow and cold and something flooded through the opening. He forced the shudders closed and latched them.

He looked around to find whatever came through. On the floor in front of the window covered in some wet snow was a young owl. It hopped sloppily using its wings to keep balance. It was very small with large orange eyes. Tufts of fluffy hair stuck out in random spots on the bird, dusted with snowflakes. The poor creature was thin, battered and too young to be on its own.

He reached for it and it tried to jump away falling over. It screeched and stumbled away. He caught with the little owl and took it in his hands. When it realized it wasn’t in danger it calmed down.

He climbed down the ladder and sat by the fire, staring at the owl. He looked down towards his backpack, retrieved a slice of bread, and handed it to the bird. It quickly took the bread and devoured it. The owl hobbled towards him and climbed into his lap.

He knew what he had to do. But he wasn’t sure if he could make it back home with a slice of bread, a ripped backpack and a homeless owl.