A Second Chance

There is something magical about this feeling - not the magic every child wants to experience. Not whimsical tricks displayed by a slight of hand, not floating objects that bring a subtle curiosity to every turn they make, nothing that makes your mind twist, nothing that triggers you to explode with awe. Not even a simple coin flip that acquires such delightful astonishment from inquisitive onlookers.

This feeling of "magical" is an other-worldly feeling. A feeling I can barely describe. The silence that crawls out of destruction is like a dead bug you expect to spring up at any moment. Clouds of smokey grey billow from the ashes of what used to be a home, a city, my city.

Thick mist deludes the smog that stings my eyes. Ash falls like snow and perches in my hair and eyelashes. The buzz of silence rattles through my skull, shaking tears from my eyes. The terrible stench of death looms in the still air.

Memories that I have buried for years burn and crumble along with the city. My memories are only shadows of what they used to be, but my hatred is not. It's still a flame that is bursting through my chest with only one intent - repay. I will shove all my doubts and insecurities into the cruel world's face. I will spit on her dreams and mock her, just as she mocked me. I will take away her security and her glory, I will give her back what she has given me all my miserable life - fright, vulnerability, and taunts. She deserves no compassion. Apparently I did not either, when I was only seven I was living off scraps of food. I was basking in oceans of filth and garbage. That's all gone. Now that I have gotten rid of it.

I'm covered in ash and stuffed away among broken buildings and splinters of wood. My fingers curl around something soft, perhaps a pillow or bed sheet. I stroke the edges of the molten fabric splotched across the item in my clutch. My mind is still drowning in a vast lake of befuddlement. I don't remember anything, I don't understand anything. My brain is clouded with confusion.

Through the sliver of my parted eyelids I see two buttons staring back, their glossy furnish disrupted by waves of burnt plastic. The buttons are eyes, attached to the fuzzy head of a rabbit. Pink. I used to like this color - back when I thought about things I fancied and craved. The rabbit hugged my hand back, and at last I felt a shard of comfort dig into my soul.

A sudden cough tore through my throat, I spit blood onto the nearby rubble. My tongue is coated with the bitter taste of metal and charred dirt. every cough that comes after the last tears deeper than the other and I am sick to my stomach. Dull colors of brown and grey blur in between my eyes. I am dying. I try to drag in breaths of air, but I only receive a mouth full of dirt and charcoal. My hands are clawing at the ground, pulling myself away from the billows of burning smoke. My ribs ache and my lungs are heavy with soot. The last few movements I make are pitiful, I'm sure, as I crawl through the remains of my city - my prison - I clumsily stumble onto my arm. Warm liquid emerges from the fresh gash, and I shriek, tearing my already damaged vocal cords. But I hear nothing. One more step. Just one more and I might live, I reassure myself as I stumble through the parting clouds of ash. Finally, a droplet of sunlight peeks through the mountains of soot and lands on my outstretched hand. I want to hold the little speck of sun, I wan't to feel it's warmth - In the last few seconds I manage to hold my eyes open, I notice the pink rabbit staring desperately in my direction as he is swept up into the hands of the cloud, which curls it's fingers around his plush body and engulfs him in smoke, gone from my sight. Forever.

I haven't the slightest sense of time. I may have been curled up on this ground for only a few minutes, or perhaps days, even weeks might have passed. My mind is focused on what I need, and that is food. I need food. But before I stand, I notice a little vine, sprawled across the ground next to me. I stare at the plump and purple fruit, which cling to the vine. I don't know where it came from, but I stuff it into my mouth, the sweet berries wipe away the dirt coating my throat, my lips are sticky with the flavorful juice of the purple fruit. Finally, once the berries have disappeared into my stomach, I gaze at my surroundings. A lush forest paints one side of the mountain in front of me, but in all directions, the ground is littered with ruble. Somewhere in the distance, I see the remains of the city. Like a broken body, it lays on the ground, splinters of wood stick up from the piles of burnt bricks, as if the distorted ribs of a dead animal. Hidden, among the rubble, I see the shimmer of a horses coat, and a collapsed tarp of a wagon. I see the remains of human lives, now tinted with black soot. Everything is dead. No, not everything, I correct myself as I lay eyes on a bird perched on the top of a brick pile. His velvet feathers gleam in the orange sun, which finds it's way through the massive cloud of soot looming overhead. The bird turns it's head and my gaze is met with his curiosity-filled, glossy black eyes. Two arcs are chiseled onto his face, defying his eyes. A dead rat is twisted in the clutches of his beak.

The vine of fruit came from the owl, this, I was certain of. And my hypothesis was proved as the bird spreads it's great wings and whistles through the smog, dropping the rat into my hands. I hope for the owl to stop, but it continues on it's journey. I stand and with the sudden energy I didn't know I possessed, I duck past piles of ruble and race after the owl. As I run farther from the fallen city, the air freshens. My lungs fill with breath, and I run faster. Twigs from the surrounding trees brush past me, tear at my exposed skin, but I only care about following the owl. The wind pushing against me ruffles my air. I feel the life I never felt before, my hatred for the world is left behind, blown off my back, not able to catch me anymore.

The barn owl lands on the moss-covered ground. I collapse next to it. I clutch my side, and gasp for air. I draw in shivering breaths, and choke on the build-up of blood in my throat. Once my mind withdraws from a foggy blur of pain and nonsense I see the city, still belching out thick smoke. The city sits almost a hundred feet below me, I peer down the rocky cliff edge and realize the city is much smaller than I had thought. The city was barely recognizable. Where I assumed the town square was, all that is left is black and chalky bricks along with molten glass. I remember how food carts would line the town square, horses and carriages and people would bustle their way through the crowds. That was my world, my sad world. As I peer down at the rubble memories spring up from it. Memories I had buried. Hatred finally caught up to me. Familiar faces looked at me, disappointment in their sorrowful eyes. I hated that city, I hated the people. But somehow I mourned for the fallen souls, buried under burning bricks, buried under the weight of their lives.

Even now, hundreds of feet above the dead city, I smell the stench of burnt flesh and the thick coat of soot that painted the entire city sable. The city remains destroyed and picked apart, the rubble - only pieces of junk departed from what they used to be. Every secret, whirls along with the smoke, everything, down to the tiny shards of glass, littering the ground is revealed, exposed. Yet somehow, I feel as if I don't understand something, something consequential, I'm missing a story only remembered by the dead bodies.

I press the palms of my hands to my face and sigh with an odd satisfaction. I lay on the mossy rocks, covered in filth and soot, but I am as content as a child receiving their deserved piece of candy. I glance sideways, to find the owl perched in a nearby tree, it's august face bring comfort to me. A smile tugs at the edge of my lips and I turn away from my friend owl and rest my head between my arms. The sun shines on my back, it's light orange and blurred in the swirling cloud of gray. The slight spring-morning mist still drifts into the heavens, leaving me behind, I almost wish I could be swept up with the little droplets of water and swim into the darkness of space, where everything is hidden, unknown. I would leave this frightful world behind and sail through the oceans of twinkling stars and feel the galaxies waft between my fingertips. I would be so close to everything but so far from everyone.

I startle out of my dreams as I hear the applauding leaves of the surrounding wood plants, I notice the owl has flown away, maybe it will return or perhaps it will never come back. I almost cry to the thought - the owl has left me, the bird brought me food and led me through the forests, it gave me comfort and guidance. When my kind have only paid me in iron coins of hell and misleading advice. Humans have only hated me, but the owl has not.

Night creeps over the earth, it came sooner than I had expected. The ashen sky is blotched with colors of steel blue and ebony. I see no moon, no stars. I am alone. Completely alone.

Now I lay my back to the moss, the trees that arch above me are scarcely outlined now, I hear them sway and dance, their branches reach out to one another, the sound of magnificent silence condemns me into a deep sleep. My dreams are memories that don't belong to me, they weave their way through my peaceful sleep and disturb my mind. My eyes open every once in a while, but I am too dreary to make any sense of the surrounding world.

The pink rabbit comes to mind, I see his outline and feel his fur. It belonged to someone, it brought joy to someone. The rabbits' bead eyes glisten with recollection of a life, his head drooped as if ready to sleep, he was loved, I could tell. Now I see him burn, the love that was once there is now ash, useless ash that the wind carries away.

Somehow I feel guilt, almost as if I had caused the fire. I have no memories of doing such a thing, perhaps they are buried behind steel walls, left for me to forget and discard.

Finally morning swept back over the ground, mist surrounded the trees and erased the distant forest. Something brushed against my shoulder. I was still in a separate world, somewhere in my subconscious, I existed. I turn my back to the sky, rolling away from whatever lies next to me, but to no avail. Again, I feel a stab in my back. Before The second one comes, my eyes fly open and I'm sitting up, startled out of sleep. Alarmed, I peer around. A woody branch, elegantly arched, sits next to me, three small apples are still attached to it. The bird did come back.

After devouring the apples, I decided to find fresh water. The swooning trees reached out their lush branches, pine needles showered down onto the large stumps that confidently stood in my way, their thick wooden armor shielding their decaying cores. The familiar hum of rushing water continues on its journey. A river. Its veins are the beat of the forest, the life to all the plants. I pick my way through brush, twigs and thorns lodge themselves into my hands and arms, I grimace in pain as I am forced to crawl through the heap of thorns and twigs to reach water.

I emerge from the brush. White-topped waves overlap each other as if in a race to get to a certain destination. I have no clue where this destination lies, but I want to be there, away from this forest, away from my city, which somehow seems to reach me here, it's stench still stings in my throat - hundreds of feet from this opening in the forest.

I stumble toward a cluster of boulders and wash my face and hands in the pool of clear water that has been trapped between the rocks, unable to follow the rest of the river. The enticing cool water provokes me to step farther from the bank. I strain in the frosty water, but a quick splash into the deep water and I am clean - cleaner than before. My eyes tingle with the disturbance of minuscule rock minerals, gathered in the river. I spring out of the river and hop onto the near river bank.

As I scrub the dirt off my arms a rustle from the brush startles me. I scan the area, from which the disturbance had emerged but see nothing. I turn back to the water, as I brush the strands of wet hair from my face, I momentarily blind myself. But in that moment, I hear something whistle by, claws tear into my skin, I feel nothing but see the pool of clear water transform into a deep red. I struggle, trying to free myself from the grasps of this creature. I shriek as it attacks, small, silky and greased feathers fall onto my shoulders, the bird.

"Get off me bird!" I shout, my arms extend over my head and I swat away the owl. But it continues to assault me, I scream, but my shouts are muffled by a thunder of sound, the still air seems to shatter, I fall and the bird falls with me. A tree positioned directly ahead of me, on the other side of the bank is disrupted by a bullet-sized hole, piercing its thick skin.

My heart stops, the river slows, the owl is forgotten, I tremble uncontrollably, either from fright or cold. My mind swirls with only a loop of a thought. Run. I have been running away from everything, all my life and yet I am still here, I outlived my city. Without hesitation, my feet dart toward the brush, the thorns only deepen my wounds, but I don't care, I don't react. I pick myself off the ground and focus on only one thing: Get away, go as far as you can, I will die before I stop running. I hear shouts and echoes emerge from the deep forest and so, I run faster. Wind is the only sound that creases this silent forest, the trees have stopped dancing, the birds have vanished, my feet Carry me past trees, over rocks and under over-turned roots, which grasp at my ankles with their thin, rubbery fingers. I haven't the slightest clue to where I am going, but as long as it is anywhere away from the shouts, I'm content.

"Amara!"

I stumble to the ground, somehow I have managed to find my way back to the cliff side. The word pierced through my skull, Amara, I am uneasy with confusion but somehow that name was deeply familiar. Before I get a chance to stand, I see the figure approach with an intimidating speed. I scuffle away but that does no good. The figure launches itself toward me, I try to choke out a scream, but my airway is blocked by a hand that does not budge. Although the sun blinds my sight, I manage to peer into the face of my captor. Brown eyes stare back, I see no human in them. I squirm and try to convince the man to let me down, but I can't speak. Somehow tears are streaming down my face.

"You killed everyone." I hear him say, his voice hollow. Suddenly, in the seconds I have before dying, I recognize that voice, I recognize those eyes and that name. I remember all the things I had stolen from him, it started with matches, then food and now his home and family has been taken away from him. My alarming memories only bring more tears to my face. I hated everyone, everything. Memories of being discarded and abandoned filled my mind. Memories of being taunted, harassed and beaten. Memories I want to bury forever, I want to die not knowing they still exist. From all that hate, I had only grown like them, I killed them, all of them. The few memories of planning and fighting and hiding spring up in my mind, my stomach drops, I feel bile rise in my throat. I had hoped nobody would live to uncover the truth, even I, the only survivor, had forgotten what caused the fire. But somehow I wasn't the only one to survive, I wasn't the only one with buried memories, rising hate and affliction.

"Everyone!" He roars and throws me onto the rocks. I try to pick myself up, but I stumble, my legs don't recognize my command and my mind is too dreary to understand the situation. I grasp at my throat and gulp in breaths of ash and mist. I try to speak, but nothing comes to my voice. I had been hurt for so many years, hated for so many years. But I am just as bad as them. I hate and scorn and kill, what sets me apart from those vile beings that are now rotting under piles of bricks? I deserve whatever may come. I deserve a thousand more years of torment and pain.

"You stole everything from me!" I hear the click of the gun, I press my back into the rock, my shaky breaths barely provide any life. I squeeze my eyes shut. Finally after years of fighting and hiding, I am fully exposed and have given up, I have stopped running, my race is over and I have lost.

I hear a scream, which I am sure belonged to me, but when my eyes shoot open, I see a cloud of feathers and blood surrounding the boy. His arms twist and flail at his side, not knowing what to do. Another shot is fired in a frenzy, the gun slips from his hands and lands on a pile of rocks. I see a puff of feathers glide and flutter through the air and land next to the dead body of the owl. A distorted sob slips past my lips, I nudge myself further away from the boy and closer to the edge of the cliff. The boy picks himself out of his confusion and pears around, searching for his gun. But instead of launching towards the gun, he launches toward me. His hat falls to the ground, revealing his black hair, which falls forward, over his eyes. To my horror, I notice one is missing. Blood streaks down his face, his terrifying grin stabs me through the heart. My insides freeze, a billion years passed in these few seconds, all the mistakes I had made in the past, which now is only an extinguished world, came to mind. I try to free myself from the boy's grasp, but by doing so, I slip and fall. I see his face vanish into the fog, His blood-soaked hair and murderous smile disappear. Only bricks and the dead await me. I imagine the faces of all the people I had killed, their skin - plastic, glued to the distinct shape of their skulls, their hands reaching out to me, beckoning to me, inviting me into their lonely, dark world. I don't want to return to this city. I want another chance. I want another chance to live in a world, where I don't hate, where I don't kill or steal, I want to be like the barn owl, who died to protect me.

My thoughts evaporate along with my life, the dead bodies and ash surround me, they are coming so near. I squeeze my eyes shut, I don't want to look death in the face, I want to hide, to run...

You'll never see the world if you don't open your eyes. The murmur of thoughts snaps my eyes open. I don't see death, not even the dead bodies or bricks, no burning city, no pained boy, gazing down at my death. I don't even smell the awful stench of rot, I don't breath ash - only fresh air fills my lungs. I have no cuts, no bruises. And I fly. I have the wings of an owl. Delicate, greased feathers are a warm coat around my body. I stretch out my wings and take flight. I take flight into a different world. A separate world. I take flight into a second chance.

I am not going to run anymore, I'm not going to hide. I'm going to fly.