The Screech

The screech. The unbearable screech. The unmistakable yet insufferable sound from a barn owl. Fuck you, owl, can you just let me die in peace? Fuck you, owl. Aren’t you supposed to say something nice, like hoot-hoot? Why do you have to perch your stupid feathery body right on the branch atop me? Can’t you see how broken I am? Can’t you see the blood pouring off my veins? Can’t you hear the gurgling sounds coming from my throat as it fills with blood? Can’t you feel the pain, the unimaginable pain as my body lies here, torn apart by the claws of the bear?

Stop it, stop it, please, I beg you. I’m dying tonight. I won’t get to have a death bed. I will die here, in the cold, soaked by the freezing water of the river that was supposed to hide me from the predator but didn't, my blood now mixing with the mud. I will die here alone, unable to scream, choking in my bile. I don’t need your screeching call to make my last moments even worse. Can’t you see, you fucking owl? Can you see the bones protruding from my broken legs, my guts swallowing out through the cuts in my belly, the eye that hangs from the side of my face, the nerve holding it like a dead mouse’s tail? Do you think I need this moment to be worse?

Stop it, please, I beg you, so I can forget where I am. So I can find refuge in the labyrinth of my memories and pretend that this is not my horrific end. If you stop, I’ll be able to travel far away, where the pain does not exist, and the cold will be replaced by the warmth of my mother’s embrace. I can go to a place where my mouth doesn’t taste blood but hot chocolate with marshmallows on top. I can dream of teenage troubles and the shy gaze of the girl that I once loved. If you shut up, I can drift off and find a land where my friends knock on the door and ask my father if I can come out and play. I will fly over to the old neighborhood, ride my old bike, and see all the places we used to go—the soda stand, the convenience store, the widow’s porch, my old school. The bleachers of the baseball field, where I felt brave for the first time, brave enough to kiss a girl. I will then ride back home with a smile on my face, sure to find a warm bowl of soup waiting for me, my mother asking me if I had a good day. I did have a good day. It was the greatest of all days.

Did you ever have that owl? A mother that would govern over your nest, a father that brought you food, friends that wanted you to come out and play? What was your play, owl? Did you fly from branch to branch, looking for cute owelettes to mate? Did other owls have funny nicknames for you? What did they call you back then? Was your screech a cause for pride, the loudest, toughest, longest of them all? Did you rule your owl neighborhood with your mighty sound? Talk to me, owl, tell me about yourself.

Owl? Owl, where are you? Owl, talk to me! Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me here alone. Let me hear your horrid screech so that I know that I am still here, that I am still me. Please, owl, don’t go. You are my only friend, the only one I have left in the world. Stay with me, I beg you, let me hear you screech for me. So I know that I am not abandoned. So I know that I’m not dead.