The Owls are Dead

There she is again, in her usual spot: a haphazard-- but very durable-- web-like contraption made of assorted weeds and branches stretching between two oak trees. My nest isn't far from there, so I see her on the days that I wake up before the sun sets.

But this girl isn't a hiker, a picnicker, or any sort of visitor; at this point, I think she lives here. It's been many days now, and not once have I seen any sign of her having left the forest. In fact, I was once awakened by her cooking some opossum meat. I may have reacted a bit aggressively towards her waking me up early, but I do appreciate that I have less to worry about now. I don't mind her if she's able to eat my enemies. Seeing the claw rips in her clothes, however, still leaves a pit in my stomach. Her clothes haven't repaired, but I hope her skin has.

When the girl first arrived, I wondered to myself why I was so intrigued by her presence here in the forest, but I imagine her situation could be similar to mine. I'm not originally from here, either. I used to live in a less dense area, near a large patch of plain grass that made it very easy to find food. Pretty much all of us, including the opossums, the rabbits, and everyone else, had to venture deeper into this forest since large deadly machines operated by humans came to tear up the ground. Maybe the machines hurt this girl's home, too. Humans can be very cruel to their own kind.

I've gotten used to living here, and I wonder if she has yet. I know humans are day-hunters, so I don't often see her awake unless it's dawn or dusk. In exchange for her hunting my enemies, I try to keep my food away from her hammock, not that they can reach that high without climbing the trees. I can hear her rustling in the hammock the whole night, but luckily I can distinguish it just fine from the sounds of food running in the grass.

*******

That owl who lives above me is up early. I notice it looking down at me as I get ready for bed. It does still make me nervous to see it staring into my soul, but it never attacked me again since my first incident with cooking in the evening. It's not like it's good meat by any means. I don't really have a choice; I don't trust some of the berries here. Luckily I know plenty about how to trap and cook small animals at this point. Maybe it's just territorial and now I'm accepted. I've washed the blood off my clothes since then, but I can't fix the large tears. It's autumn now, so I hope winter isn't too cold. Ideally I'd be out of here by then anyway.

Living in the forest has definitely been an adjustment. For one, I never knew I could feel so lonely while never being alone. It feels like something is always watching me, such as the owl above me, but I never feel camaraderie with any of the animals here. Perhaps I'm more lonely than I expected because of what brought me here in the first place. I have no idea where my dad is, and part of me hopes I'll see him in these woods one day, too, but I know I won't. If I knew where my dad was, maybe I'd feel more secure. Maybe I'd actually have a plan.

While me living here isn't exactly the American Dream my father expected, I still find it much more peaceful than our town back in El Salvador. I don't hear gunshots, and the animals here don't really interfere with me much. However, I know I have to go back into a town someday; I just have no idea how to do that. I'd hate to leave here just to be deported, even if that's what the police did to my dad. He wouldn't want that for me. We came here because he wanted me to go to a college here or in Europe; he says it's a much better life. That's why he blocked the door to our backyard and told me to run. So the police wouldn't see me. So hopefully I'd find a way to stay here.

I can't go to college if I'm wasting my highschool years in the woods, though.

After another day of scavenging for food with the little traps I set up, fruitlessly thinking through scenarios where I leave, I go to my hammock and cook some of the meat. The owl isn't in its nest; it must've woken up really early. As I eat, I really just try to not think of anything. I'm only focused on looking around at the trees and brush as the sunset starts to color the sky.

***

The mice are fairly active tonight, and the murky creek about a half mile away has more than just minnows. It's a feast! Luckily there aren't as many animals around trying to turn me into prey, so that's even better. I only had to fight off one or two raccoons for some good meat. Every time I head back to my nest to drop off food, I see the human asleep in her hammock again, like usual. Just lying there. Once I know I've gotten enough food, I set up in my nest in the tree to eat.

That's when I heard it.

That's when I saw it.

The sound of claws scraping bark. Something climbing up the tree.

A opossum going up the tree the owl lives in. I can feel my face go pale; that opossum could easily have gotten into my hammock. I had no idea they could climb that high. I guess I've been extremely lucky until now. That, or perhaps the smell of their own dead keeps them away...but then why is it here?

An opossum. Always a battle. This is a do-or-die situation. Either I eat it, or it eats me. And I am not about to be eaten. The human is here, so I will only screech if I have to. As a warning, I poke out of the nest, spreading my wings and baring my talons at the enemy. It returns a hideous noise at me, its sharp, bright teeth visible to me even this late at night.

Wait...is the opossum...hunting the owl? Based on the owl's reaction to me cooking it for the first time, I thought it was the other way around. Maybe that's why it hasn't bothered me again! I'm eating its predators! Since I can't exactly shoot the opossum or get much closer to it, I just watch as the owl and opossum try to intimidate each other. I cover my ears in case the owl shrieks again.

I'm trapped in my own nest. There's no way to easily fly away or attack this opossum without taking my own damage. I have no other choice. I try my best to fly out and up to avoid the opossums' claws and mouth, but a searing pain stops me mid-air.

My wing.

I flap as best I can to continue flying, but it's futile.

No. This can't be it.

I've never seen an owl try to fly with one wing before, and perhaps that's been a blessing until now. There's more blood going around than air. I grab one of my makeshift stone stabbers and slowly get out of bed. The opossum is too busy with the owl to notice me.

Good: that means I can kill it.

It's time for me to screech. It startles the opossum at first, but it quickly resumes trying to fight me. Luckily I still have my talons, but I'm worried about my chances with my wing injury.

I sneak carefully around the opossum, the screeches of the owl hiding any steps I make. I can feel adrenaline coursing through me, so as soon as I get close enough behind the opossum, I go for it.

CRACK.

An indescribable, nausea-inducing crunch of bone, organs, and skin being bitten through stops me - and the screeching- in my tracks. The opossum keeps biting in as the owl's uninjured wing flaps in vain. Its final attempts at life.

This is nature.

I can still hear her. Through the excruciating pain of being eaten alive, all I can think is, "Why did you stop?"

I saw her go for the opossum. Now she's just watching me be eaten. If it scared her, she would have run away. She was about to save me. Now... she's just watching. Please, I'm weak...help me. I thought we were allies.

I shouldn't interfere with the ecosystem, I tell myself, it'll disturb nature in ways I may not be able to see. All I can do is stand and watch, like a race car crash you can't take your eyes off of, not matter how horrible it gets. It's almost fascinating, as someone who's been having to catch and cook their own meat. I watch in curious horror until the owl stops moving, and the opossum takes it away in its mouth, only looking at me once.

I can't just save every animal I happen to like. It's not like they remember me, right? This isn't some fantasy novel where a special animal makes a bond with me and helps me survive. I'm on my own, just like the owl was.

Just like the owl was...

The owl was alone. In its own home. I can't help but sympathize with the owl in that aspect. My dad and I came here to avoid being the owl; to avoid being prey. Staying here, I'm basically doing the same thing. Just waiting until the inevitable day something hunts me and nobody is there to remember it. Nobody ever hearing from me again. Just like the owl and countless other animals, as is part of nature.

If nothing else, I can't let my dad hold out false hope.

Maybe it's time to face the town again; the owls are dead.