Exit into Silence

The air was heavy at dusk. Filled with the smell of cut hay, manure, and the earthy breath of livestock as it settled into the dust.

Her hands hardly needed gloves anymore. They were the crackled texture of day-old homeade bread. She scoured the barn for any task yet to be done.

Seven young rabbits sat in a pen of chicken wire and hay in the corner of the barn. She had just picked them up yesterday. She wasn't sure of the breed. They were white with large brown patches and fur softer than any piece of clothing she had ever owned.

Her two youngest daughters had begged for them for months and months. She traded with a neighbor for some Hy-line hens. Her daughters were thrilled. She hardly got them out of the barn and inside for their chores earlier.

Her eyes weren't the only ones on the soft, creatures. A barn owl perched deep within the rafters. Waiting. He swooped. As silent as the fall of a single feather. She wouldn't have even noticed if the rabbit hadn't squealed as he seized it.

In an instant, he exited the barn in to the deep, silent, dusk of Missouri. She shot out into the night, searching the sky for his bright, white, face.

He had perched within a silver maple tree about 20 yards away, rabbit clenched within his talons, still squealing. The girls would hear the commotion soon. She recognized the rabbit as, Charlie. A favorite of her youngest daughter because of his moustache-like markings.

The great barn owl struggled with the weight of the young rabbit as he dropped towards the earth and then in an arc, swept upward in the direction of the woods. The moon glistened on his wings just enough for her to see the direction he was headed.

The light continued to fade as he landed near the pond to enjoy his prey. The rabbit was too heavy for him to carry any further and he hadn't eaten in days.

She had lost track of the bird, mid-flight, but ran towards the woods, knowing that he would search for cover, like all animals do when they are fearful or hungry.

She cut through a narrow path between the blackberry bushes that her daugthers had made last summer. Brambles scratching at her arms in protest, pulling and catching her dark hair, leaving bits of leaves in her loose braid. The path wasn't meant for her or any creature of her size. She finally burst through the brush... gathering her surroundings.

For a second, they both stared, shocked to see one another. Her green/gray eyes bored into his. His were like the obsidian she had seen once in science class. Impossibly smooth and only reflective of very bright light. He had the rabbit pinned to the ground. It was alive, but lie motionless apart from his chest rapidly rising and falling. This rabbit was not his.

She lunged.

He might've escaped her grasp had he released the rabbit. As he tried to take off, she dragged him back towards the earth by one of his long, scaly, legs like she had created gravity. She pried the rabbit from his grasp, tossing it out of harms way.

She could let the owl go now.

He dug his talons deep within her wrists as she pinned him to the damp earth. The light was fading and she could only make out the white heart shape of his face and dark eyes, which now seemed hollow and less reflective than before as he stared up at her. She could smell the damp earth, disturbed by his movement. The only noise were his rustling feathers and her boots softly scraping the ground.

Her blood trickled down her arm onto his repellent feathers. Pooling warmly beneath his head.

She pressed the soft, downy, feathers, surrounding his neck towards the ground as his talons dug deeper and deeper, scraping at her skin. More blood. His and her eyes locked.

The rabbit cowered nearby and silence fell as the owl's eyes began to fade and his claws lessened their grip. Hers did not.

His leg barely twiched as she released him and retrieved the rabbit from the nearby bramble. He would be gone by morning. The other night creatures would smell her blood.

She rinsed her hands and hastily bandaged her wounds, which would surely scar. The children would be expecting dinner soon and she had promised ham-bone soup.