Shapeshifting Night Owl
A boy’s tale
Eeringly hooting, silently gazing, & territorially possessing, Malor is waiting in bone penetrating darkness for his prey. His focus and will are without flexibility in this moment. His readiness of action is still and immaculate. Malor has been waiting to devour his prey with joyable ruthlessness. How could Malor feel any mercy for a man that abused his mother, privately molested him, and cowardly got rid of his dog that his mother and father bought him for his fifth birthday?
Malone’s father was killed unexpectedly by his own brother, Malor’s uncle when his dad caught him stealing money to buy drugs. He shot him with his handgun willfully. Since his mother witnessed the loss of his father, she has sheltered herself with an atmosphere of trauma, drunkenness, fear, and sorrow. The year old occurrence never leaves the perplexity of her troubles and pain.
Although, Malor was 13 at the time, he was intuitively receptive to the collapse of his mother’s soul mingled with the fiery anger that was burning up his flesh during the observance of his father’s death. His uncle escaped and was never found. In the very moment that he witnessed his uncle scurrying away maniacally, his compassion sunken deep within him as a drowning person crying out for help and knowing there’s no one to turn to. He knew he could never trust any man and was the only person who could truly care for his mother.
His mind became a dark place with light expressions of his dog, Scotch, a golden retriever, the size of a child’s bicycle with fur gentle as the ocean’s waves and his mother, Pamela, athletically lean reaching 5’7 with purple dyed hair and honey pigmented eyes of an oven baked biscuit complexion. The place of his mind looked like withered trees, rustling dead leaves, a gloomy thick fog, a cemetery of dead buried hopes and dreams, with a smell of assorted decaying fruits, and a barn owl sitting under the full moon’s light of his abandoned playhouse. This owl figuratively knew who Malor wanted to be and represent for the safety of his mother, but also knew that Malor was paralyzed by fear and a most destructive anger.
A year after the tragedy, Pamela met someone who outwardly appeared charming at Redfox Liquor store on the corner of Buschel Street. After reaching for a bottle of vodka and pulling back without environmental awareness, Pamela casually elbowed Maxwell in the mid-region of his abdomen. There he was standing 6’6, dark haired buzz cut, green eyes, and an oily skin like the oil of chicken broth smelling like the internal parts of a car that needed repair. His build was that of a WWE wrestler. His hands appeared as tracks with skid marks and dirty nails that needed a woman’s touch. He pierced her attention as the nailing of Jesus to the cross and captivated her will effortlessly. He insisted that she will belong to him. She lifelessly chuckled in disbelief. The two exchanged numbers & began to date. Dating was meeting up for drunk sex with a camera as the audience to record her inescapable perpetuating pain.
2 months after these encounters, Pamela introduced Maxwell to Malor along with the idea of Maxwell moving in. Malor became infuriated, but stood in the middle of the kitchen looking through the back window with a blank stare in silence. Maxwell could permeate Malor’s pain that wrapped around his lean pale body like anacondas squeezing out its prey’s life force. He could recognize this due to his own unresolved inner discordance and overwhelming narcissistic attitude dressed as a man in black. Maxwell moved in that same day and waited another six months to unveil the stench of his darkness. Scotch, Malor’s dog and best friend, could sense the impurities of Maxwell like food gone bad and barked incessantly.
One evening, while Malor stayed after school to finish up a history paper with a tutor, Maxwell told Pamela he was taking Scotch for a walk to get some air. Scotch barked the entire time; he was uneasy in Maxwell’s presence. Truthfully, he took Scotch to the deep woods of a forest that had a waterfall and lured him to his death.
He returned home with a weight-bearing spirit of guilt and took it out on Pamela by critizing everything she did. He pulled her hair and slapped her across the face when he felt challenged by her talking back to him. Malor walked through the door calmly when he noticed his mother being physically and verbally abused. He fiercely rushed to Maxwell and clubbed him in the head with his textbook, frantically trying to safeguard his mother from further harm. He knocked Maxwell to the ground, knocking him out unconscious. His mother lied on top of the dining table with her limbs spread out hollering as an emotional opera singer. Malor was looking around for Scotch, waiting to hear his bark, his panting, collar jingling, and foot steps running towards him as happy little children.
Malor fell into a trance when didn’t hear or see any of what he was waiting for. In his heart, he knew Scotch was gone. He cried out with the hooting of the barn owl. His mental vibrations shifted into that of the owl. He screamed out, “why!? Why?! You piece of shit! You hurt my mother, you hurt me 3 months ago, and now you hurt my dog!” He closed his eyes as the moon grew full, the skies dark, and the night cold. He imagined the barn owl that he repeatedly dreamed of and visioned himself as. Maxwell became his prey. He waited in his mind eeringly hooting, silently gazing, and territorially possessing in bone penetrating darkness of his mind. He ruthlessly devoured him.