Fair Feathered Fiend

‘Ah…. How dreadfully boring.’ The glorious yellow lune was glowing brightly in the sky, to the point it was quite irritating and painful to the eyes bathing in the dark. It was annoying to go out into the light, after all the darkness was my favorite sort of night; Pitch black, overcast or chilled. My victims could never hear me coming, it was easy to sneak up on unsuspecting prey and pierce their flesh before they could scream. Nothing beats the shrill scream in their final moments, feeling the warmth gush out as blood pools around us as their bodies go still. Such an addictive and alluring thing, the life of a predator is addicting.

I’ll never understand herbivores; Where’s the thrill in eating a plant? Tasting the rich iron, feeling the tendons sever as you take a bite. I’ve hunted creatures smaller than myself, creatures larger, and even those whom hunt me. In the air I am infallible, in the dark I am needlessly ravishing. Truly there are no creatures whom hold an ounce of my glory. My majesty cannot be truly appreciated, those who witness me perish too quickly. Of course, those whom I do not wish to shall not see me.

I am skilled, meticulous and particular, not fussy but flawless. Not even the bones of my victims will be identifiable when I am through. Without a trace I will move onto my next ‘feast.’ Dozens of victims will be drained by me before I tire of my game. I rarely lose in terms of creativity, or speed. Even the odd… Furless, lanky bear with the stick of light. Inconceivable and painful the lanky bear is noisy and clearly weak, yet hasn’t been hunted by the large bears. Even they are no match for my glory.

I am sleek, resilient and gorgeous. Over the years I have learned to describe myself. An ugly furless bear gave me a name years ago “Primo '' Apparently I was the first to appear before ‘him’ and perhaps the only. Despite my curiosity of this bearlike creature, it perished to a wolf in a moment of carelessness, so he became my feed. Even then it was the first time I hesitated in a meal, strange isn’t it? I thrive on the kill, yet I hesitated to eat a meal presented to me. Stranger still, after completing the feast under the crimson skies I began to change. Staring into the lake I saw myself still perfect, flawless and feathered. Blending into my surroundings, even into a while lune scape. As an owl as they called me, I was never lacking. My weapons talons and beak are sharp and fatal; my movements graceful, every movement I make is to ensure a quick kill. My wings long and well groomed, dusty chestnut to blend with the woodlands, my chest and crown are pure as snow to blend with the light and blind my victims. My thoughts and chirps become more intricate over the days.

Yet I am baffled. It should come as no surprise that I have the ability to communicate. After all, those furless cretins, cannot truly believe only they have comprehensive thoughts and speech? Ah, I suppose they are too self absorbed to even realize other species judge them? I mean it’s no surprise they are more fascinated by themselves and their hideousness than I am drawn to my radiance. Since the first, I have since lost count of how many idiotic wanderers of that species venture into the forest where I dwell. Some tiny and some wielding sticks of light; Many perish before darkness settles. Some I have hunted personally.

Yet as they pass, the slow passage of time becomes noticeable to me. Cycles of life and death pass before me, yet I’m still a spry chick, this wisdom of mine has changed time and time again. The others in my area have changed time and time again. Perhaps I upset the owner of the forest? Perhaps the ruler of these lands wishes a perpetual servant? As I land to drink at the lake my black eyes seem taller, and I am confused. In front of me are not my fine feathers, but furless sticks and tawny flesh, looking at the surface I freeze. My black eyes are different, turning my head swiftly I whimper, I cannot turn as far or fast. I have taken form of my recent prey, I am neither tall, nor small. Still more majestic than many of my prey, yet I am a furless bear in a forest of things I cannot outfly.

My eyes darken as I observe my surroundings, I am far from graceful as I drink and rise. I have seen them move, but somehow it makes no sense, why do they have such useless appendages? I wonder if I can turn back to my true self?

Of course it wasn’t easy, surviving as a prey instead of a predator, still I have survived. I learned some ‘human’ language. Such a strange word human, it is some special term for the arthropod, proving they are monkeys. Is that something to be proud of? How foolish. Now having learned a bit of their knowledge such menial thoughts make even lesser sense. For instance I was given many names and half of them were offensive. The core name owl is preceded by; Ghost, monkey-faced, death, barn, church, night, white or golden. Truly are these baboons that god forsaken? ‘Monkey-faced’? ‘Death’? ‘Church’? Truly? How could such glamor be compared to a monkey? Their unbearable lanky appendages, ugly matted fur, and crunched faces. Death is more acceptable, after all my prey never survives to tell the tale of my gloriousness. However, church? How repulsive, the only god I serve is myself. My master is myself, not a mysterious maker hidden among the trees.

I will ever take pride in what I am, who I am. Though perhaps one day I will understand how I became a polymorph. Until then, perhaps I shall try feasting in my other form. How thrilling would the hunt be to the unsuspecting arthropods? Shall we play?