The Owl of Alabaster Lake

The argent light of the moon's reflection glistened softly in the still waters of Lake Alabaster. Vincent navigated labyrinthine corridors of thought, lost, the walls of his own mind closing in on him. Suffocating him as surely as drowning in the serene waters before him. He had escaped to the great outdoors to distance himself from the dullness and doldrums of what had gradually become a dismal existence. He took a deep breath of crisp winter air, enjoying the idyllic beauty surrounding him. Wondrous as it was, it did little to ease the existential dread that so haunted him. The light dimmed and winked out as clouds enshrouded the moonlit bitter cold winter night in darkness. He struck flint to steel. The spark ignited kindling and the campfire he'd prepared came to life. Losing himself in the dancing flames his consciousness unexpectedly gave way to restless sleep.

Vincent awoke within a dream. Scintillating black stars loomed overhead, illumining a strangely familiar landscape. Dense multicolored foliage swaying to the beat of an unseen drum beckoned him onward. Unthinking, he followed the sound to its source. His unreal surroundings morphed and twisted with every step, each stride taking him further and faster than expected. Before long he found himself standing before a surreal Lake Alabaster. It ebbed and flowed bizarrely to the eerie melody. He scanned the landscape searching for its elusive origin. Suddenly awareness dawned on Vincent. The lake was no less alive than he.

No. It was more alive.

The accumulation of delusions that made up the fabric of his perceptions melted away. Observing the scene from his newfound perspective he noticed that he was not alone. A barn owl perched in a nearby birch tree had its keen eyes fixed upon him. Ordinarily Vincent wouldn't attempt to converse with an owl, but given the context it seemed the savvy thing to do.

"Hey! Uh, Owl? Where is that strange music coming from?" his voice was clear and confident, but he felt rather awkward speaking to an owl. While he had been the one to initiate the conversation he hadn't fully expected a response and was somewhat taken aback when the owl replied.

"Hesitation is often a slow death. In your case it will prove a quick one.” Disconcerted from hearing such mellifluous articulation emerge from the beak of an owl Vincent delayed in his response. The Owl didn’t wait for a reply, it took wing and swiftly soared out of view. Attempting to make sense of the Owl’s words, he closed his eyes and focused on the unusual percussion only to find all had become silent. Frustrated he willed himself awake.

Dawn’s first rays gleamed over the horizon revealing a beautiful array of lush greenery. Vincent yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his weary eyes, splashing water from the lake on his bedraggled face. He began gathering his possessions, unceremoniously stuffing them into his pack. Out of nowhere a rock sailed into his skull dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

Struggling to remain conscious he managed to get on his feet, peering around for the whereabouts of his assailant. Prompted by the insistent hooting of an owl he spun and found himself nearly face to face with his attacker. He had no time to ponder whether his would be savior was the same barn owl from his dream. Its talons had done a number on the man’s face. Ugly as he was a few scars might’ve just improved his appearance. With a flurry of feathers and a few forceful beats of its wings the Owl took off, leaving Vincent to face the wretch alone. The man produced a wicked looking knife and stalked towards Vincent.

Hooting above alerted him to the arrival of a sturdy stick of oak from the sky. Apparently the helpful Owl hadn’t merely fled. Catching it somewhat awkwardly Vincent tried to assemble himself with as much composure as he could muster. Remembering the Owl’s words he determined to take the initiative. He feinted, dodging the easily predicted stab then struck without hesitation, risking it all on one mighty blow. The knife flew from the man’s grasp, spinning end over end before embedding into a nearby oak. Spitting curses and nursing broken fingers the man hastily backed off and made a run for it. Vincent held his composure for a moment ensuring the wretch was truly gone before collapsing to his knees.

Sipping lukewarm coffee from his thermos, head still pounding from the unexpected blow Vincent silently thanked the Owl that probably saved his life.

May the moon the sun and the stars ever smile upon you my feathered friend, I owe you one.

Wondering if anyone would ever believe such an impossible story Vincent smiled and whistled a jolly tune to himself. The world suddenly seemed such an overwhelmingly beautiful place, he’d never see it the same way again.