Omnipotent Owl

She lay in bed looking out of the window. It was late, very late. She was feeling... conflicted. Bad, and good. She felt bad for not feeling worse. What they were doing... they would surely be condemned by everyone else if they knew. But neither of them really ever followed the rules and both of them found emotions tedious.

She lay in bed in unfamiliar sheets. The silvery moonlight streamed in, so bright the night had shadows. They say a full moon is a great time for release and what’s a better release than an orgasm? So she had called him, knowing he wouldn’t say no. It’s her who always says, this time is the last time. She says it to herself only, never allowed to him. She can’t ever seem to believe herself.

She lay in bed looking out of the window. Thoughts swirling aimlessly, she decided there was no point to worry. They made their choices and now she was quite literally laying in the bed they had made. Or unmade as the case were. A barn owl landed in the tree just outside. Wow, she thought. She immediately loved its pristine white feathered face. It had obsidian black eyes that were darker than anything she’d ever seen. Not dark in an evil way, dark in a way that was like they were absorbing everything it was seeing. Black holes for eyes. Spooky, she thought. The owl blinked at her, and she felt seen. She felt more than seen. She felt like it looked straight inside of her. Why does it feel like owls are omnipotent? Maybe they are secret gods. It certainly looked as though it was sent down from the moon itself. It blinks and continues to stare at her. It’s judging me, she thought. I’m judging me.

She felt as if the owl knew all of her deepest, darkest secrets. It knew what she had just done with a married man. It knew her past, present and her future. It knew all of her desires, even ones she was afraid to admit to herself.

She felt the owl tell her that this wasn’t enough. “I know,” she replied, telepathically. She’d known that it wasn’t enough for a long time. She knew she needed to stop the sneaking around and lying and move on. She craved more and she wasn’t going to get it there, in those foreign hotel sheets. But when you live without receiving much love in your life, it’s hard to turn down the love you can get. And besides, he was her best friend.

They weren’t in love, though, and never would be. They loved each other, sure, but it wasn’t romantic. She didn’t want him to ever leave his wife for her or anything. That wasn’t what they got from each other, it wasn’t the point. It was like a comfort thing. An old habit that was really, really hard to break. Despite the fact that she knew it could really hurt someone. They were being selfish, she knew all of this. There, locked in a staring contest with the mystical barn owl, she was forced to acknowledge all of this honestly.

She suddenly felt very sad. She wished that the owl would make her disappear. Fix her with its gaze and suck her out of the window like a sci-fi laser beam.

“Take me with you,” she implored. “Please.” Tears started to build in her eyes, and gave the owl an hazy aura. Fuck. She hated feeling this way, it made her feel weak. The owl stretched its wings to an impressive span and flapped a single time as if in answer to her plea. “No,” is what it told her. Whether it was “no, I can’t,” or, “no, I won’t” she couldn’t discern.

She lay in bed, alone in unfamiliar sheets, looking out of the window at the barn owl. She hoped she would never be in this room again. The weighty sadness clung to her heart. She resolutely did not want to settle for what she thought was the most she could get anymore. Enough now, enough.

As soon as those words flashed across her mind, something caught the owl’s eye. It took off with deftness and purpose. It was as if that was what it came to hear from her. It wanted her to see and find this truth within herself. The truth that it had seen instantly with its ancient knowing magic.

So this time she made the promise to the owl instead of herself. “You can scratch my eyes out if I break it,” she swore. This was the last time.