Night Owl

By Foosballer

“Holly hell! Look at this mess! Blood, bullets, bodies, feathers, and fuckin birdseed!”

As the chief was yelling, a detective ran up to him with a rundown on the situation.

“Well, sir five bodies total. Looks like these people were robbing an ATM but were interrupted. Presumably by this man right here wearing no shirt, no pants, white briefs with a huge belt buckle that says, “Rodeo Champion”, a long black worn trench coat, and a bucket hat. His chest cavity is wide open, and he is missing all major organs. We also found that all five of the victims are missing eyes. Two are missing tongues, and three are missing fingers.”

“God, why the hell do we have so many crazies in this city.”

One Day Earlier

He got up from his cardboard floor and yawned. He then crawled out of his box. He always looked up at the sky. The sun was there; the birds were there; it was blissful there. He shook his head and walked out of the allyway and into the concrete maze of buildings and roads. It was a ritual every week on this day, a Saturday. He would go to the pet shop and get himself a free bag of bird seed. The owner of the shop didn’t mind, as he had excess due to everybody in the neighborhood leaving since crime had been on the rise in the city, but ,hey, rent was cheap.

The man opened the door of the shop and waved to the owner. “Bird seed is right by the end of the counter.” The homeless man nodded and grabbed the bag and walked away from the counter.

“Come again and have a good day,” said the owner. The man nodded, smiled, and closed the door. He walked to the park. The park was almost as nice as the sun in the sky, the man always thought. There was mostly green and yellow grass, a small pond and one little bench at the park. He sat on the bench and threw the bird seed on the ground. Birds flocked to the seeds ravenously. He was alone in the park with his birds, and he was fine with that. He smiled at a little bird looking up at him. The man put his hand out and gently patted the little bird with the palm of his hand.

The sun went down past the buildings, and it was time for the man to leave the park. On the way back to his box the man saw a gang; talking to the owner of pet shop. The man crouched behind a car, put his ear in his hand and eavesdropped on the talk. There were four gangsters, two were tall and one was small but stocky and lastly there was a gangster with a revolver in his hand. All the members wore black baggy hoodies, and pants, and purple head bands tied around their foreheads like they were street ninjas. The one with the revolver raised the gun to the head of the shop owner and a powerful sound ripped through the air as the pet shop owner fell backward with a thud.

The man held his breath from behind the car. He then peeked up from the car again and looked at the scene. He saw the short stocky gangster outside. The gangster was searching the body of the shop owner and finally got up and left headed into the pet shop. The man got up from the parked car on the side of the road and bolted away behind the scene.

He arrived at his box, got in, rolled into the fetal position, and silently cried. After 15 minutes of mourning, the man got up and left his box. He went around his allyway and grabbed his things: a worn black trench coat, a worn pitch-black bucket hat, and a leather belt with a sliver belt buckle with words engraved “Rodeo Champion.” The man pulled off his thin threaded pants and buckled the belt on his waist. He then slid his bare feet into the laceless muddy hiking boots, put on the trench coat but did not button, as there were no buttons and finally, topped off his head with the bucket hat. The man left the allyway and walked off in the direction of the pet shop.

He arrived outside the pet shop. Police surrounded the premise. The police car lights illuminated the world with red and blue. The owner’s body was still the on the pavement, covered with a blanket. The shop’s front was wrapped in police tape. There was no getting through; the man had to improvise.

He was in the vents. Officers were right under him. So he inch wormed his way through the vents, but, his bony frame made banging noises each time he moved a limb. When he made it to the back room of the shop and removed the vent lid, waiting for him was a squad of police. Right in his face were two tall burly officers. The man tried to retreat back into the vents, but the two officers grabbed his arms and yanked him out. When he was in the hands of the officers the man squirmed, using his rigid bone structure to loosen the grip of the officers. Alas, it didn’t work. So the man did Plan B. He licked the face of the officer standing next to him. Luckily, the officer he licked was a germaphobe and dropped the man immediately. This was his moment. The man used his bony elbows to hit the other officer in the temple. The officer winced and the man was free. He then reached for his laceless muddy hiking boot and threw it at an officer blocking his way. The boot bounced off the officer’s face and seemed only piss him off. Seeing that he was trapped, as the officer closed in, he chose the rule of the streets: Never let them know your next move. The man began to yell. It was a sound resembling the cross between a badly played flute and nails on a chalk board. A officer came close enough to the man to pull handcuffs out of his belt to prepare for arrest. The man was too swift, though, and smacked the hand away like a parent would to a greedy child. The officer blocking the way moved in to capture the man, but the man was too skinny and fast for him. The man took his chance and ran screaming. The officers followed. While the man ran, he picked up two bags of bird seed. The officers were right on his tail; he turned around and quickly took off his other boot and threw it at the officers. It hit, but again, the officers didn’t acknowledge it. He ran and shouted still as he got out of the shop. His lungs wouldn’t allow him to run and scream anymore. So he gave up his screaming. This gave the man a burst of speed, as he was comfortable running on his bare feet.

He was lost, tired, and bootless but had no shortage of bird seed. The man needed a place to sit and think about his next plan of action. He found a bus station nearby and sat cris-crossed on a bench. He lay his head back and closed his eyes. The whole world around him was pitch black, and he was all alone, just him and the bench. He heard the sound of an owl hooting; the man opened his eyes and saw, perched on a streetlight, was an owl. The man got up and walked towards the streetlight, put one hand in his trench coat pocket, and dropped some bird seed on the ground. As the seed hit the ground, the owl darted toward it and started gorging on the seed. The man squatted down and watched the owl intently. Another bird came and then another, soon flocks, flights, and murders of birds came to feast on the seed. The man kept throwing the seed until his first bag of seed was empty. It only took a few seconds for the seed to be cleaned off the sidewalk, and birds started to take to the sky. The man got up from his squat and followed the birds.

After the last flight of birds was out of sight, the man stopped and looked around at his surroundings. The man kept his head up to the birds so he wouldn’t lose them, but now the birds were gone, and he was in a place he did not know. He put his hands on his face and slowly descended to the ground in anguish, but a noise caught his attention.

He got up immediately and followed. It was a loud CLUNK! CLUNK! The man followed it to a corner. He edged his head around the corner. He squinted his eyes, but they exploded into shock at what he saw. From the lights of building windows, the man saw four people dressed in all-black uniforms. On the four heads were purple head bands. They crowded around the ATM as if it were an alter of wealth.

The man turned his head back around the corner, took a breath, and turned the corner fully. He walked slowly towards the gang. The members of the gang turned as they heard the “flap ,flap” sound of feet hitting concrete.

The gang member with the revolver pulled the gun out and fired once, twice, and thrice. The man, with preternatural flexibility, dodged the first and second bullet. The third penetrated his left leg with great force. He fell to the ground, but the man didn’t stop his approach. Without wincing, he crawled his way towards the gang like the Terminator.

The gangster with the revolver went to fire again but, only the clicks came so he motioned the other three gangsters to advance toward the man. Once the members were next to the man, they commenced beating the living shit out of him.

All the man saw was the bottom of shoes and boots, and all he heard was laughter and curses. Soon, the revolver gangster came to have his turn in the shit kicking. With a bleeding leg and shoes and boots coming down on him every second, the man curled up in a fetal position, covering his head in his arms. The gang member kept on laughing, but soon, too the man started to join in the laughter. As soon as he started laughing the gang members stopped, and the kicking slowed. The gun gangster asked a question, “Who the fuck are you?” The man’s laughter increased in tempo. With this, all the kicking stopped. The gun gangster asked again “Who the fuck are you?!” The man stopped his laughter altogether and said, “I am THE SEED!!!!!” The man reached in his trench-coat pockets and released all of his bird seed. The seeds rained down on the gang.

“Ah! What the fuck is this shit!!!??” said one. Another spoke “I got some in my mouth!!!!” The gun gangster of the group got up and said, “Allright, enough of this” and lifted his foot for a skull crushing blow, but before he could stomp the head of the man, a ravenous sound of flapping came upon the gang and the man. Hungry birds started to feast upon the seed not caring about to differentiate from human flesh.

The gang members started to scream in agonized pain as their flesh was torn piece by piece. Some of the thugs tongues were ripped out, the birds mistaking them for juicy fat worms. The gun gangster used the butt of his revolver like a hammer, but the birds were too swift, and they pecked out his eyeballs.

While this was happening, the man was still on the ground, laughing even though a majority of the seed was on him and the birds were pecking and ripping his flesh away. One little bird, with a red head, was beside the man. The man put out his index finger and gently rubbed the little bird on its cherry red head. The little bird hopped over to the man’s face and pecked out his eyeball, but the man didn’t scream; he smiled a fatherly smile and laughed. He continued laughing even when the gang stopped screaming. He kept laughing even though the birds were gone. He finally stopped when the sun came up.

Back in Present

The chief and detective walked the park path soaking in the rays of the evening sun. As the two walked, they stopped at a bench, sat down, stretched and relaxed. A bird flew right next to the detective and landed on the grass. It was a bird with a red head and in the beak of the bird was an eyeball. The detective closed his eyes and opened them again. The bird was gone.

“Uhhh, Chief?”

“Yes?”

The detective shook his head in disbelief.

“Ah, oh. So, what’s tomorrow look like?”

END