ORIGINS: Look at the eyes of the second moon. We connected the dots and got a jackal and an owl on opposite sides of a lake, vying for the soul someone had thrown into it.
The reflection about to drown in my eyes? Does it really matter who it belongs to? Both the jackal and the owl serve the same realm: Death. They have come to kill something in me, and I don’t really care who delivers the coup de grace. Soon my innocence will be gone, and I will live the rest of my days seeing only the ugliness this world has to offer. But maybe you are right. That jackal is as black as a starless night, and maybe I could find a little bit of comfort in the fact that the stars were killed before my innocence was.
The jackal and the owl are vying for my soul. For a dark, perfect reflection on the surface of my lake. They have seen what happens to the Moon, how she wanes, and they don’t have any faith in me. After being hurt, after seeing the ugly things that hide in the dark, neither the jackal nor the owl believe that I would be able to put my pieces back together and wax. They believe that I am fragile, that it would only take a touch, a glimpse of the world for my child to give in and grow up. And I don’t know why they refuse to lend me a hand. I know that it wouldn’t take much to break me and scatter my pieces to the winds. But I also know that all I would need was one wing. To steal those pieces back and hug them tight. Back into something round, that even if it wasn’t perfect, I know that it would be enough for my child.
I am not afraid of the dark. Jackal howls and owl hoots don’t scare me. There aren’t enough stars in the night, and even if I connected the few dots that are left, those lines wouldn’t conjure sharp fangs or even sharper beaks. My eyes are safe. No one can bite them off. They are rooted in my heart, and no one will ever be able to bite my soul off. Not starlight. Not a jackal. And certainly not an owl. But what if glistening teeth aren’t what’s needed? What if it only takes a reflection on my lake’s surface? Just a few words. To reshape me, and take my place. Would my angel even notice my absence, once she fell prey to an owl? Would she still watch over my soul, even after the words that make me who I am had drowned in the lake?
I know that my days are numbered. That it won’t be long before the ripples on the lake’s surface disappear, and someone else comes to cast their reflection and wear my name. It could be an owl. Or it could be a jackal. But the end result would be the same. I will be gone. No more dreams. No more reasons. Only a stretch of time, and Death at the end of it. Can you really blame me for not caring whether a jackal uses my feet or an owl uses my wings to complete the rest of the journey? That life won’t be mine anymore, and I am doing my best not to break into tears and just letting the lake dry up.
Jackal: Do we really look alike?
Owl: If it would make you feel better, I could always try to find a difference or two.
Jackal: But would one or two little things really be enough? At the end of the day Death still owns the two of us. That won’t change. Even if I were to put distance between us and never look in this lake again, the words others use to define us wouldn’t change. They see us as Death’s servants, they always will. And with every passing day my name is becoming more and more meaningless.
Owl: Would you prefer a different master? Maybe that would help to keep our names from coalescing.
Jackal: I am not a dog. What I would prefer is being free.
Jackal: Who have you brought?
Owl: I wanted to bring an angel, but I was too late. By the time night fell her wings were nothing more than bones and skin. All her feathers had fallen to the ground. They had already started to rot. She had already become part of the world, and she wouldn’t have made a wonderful gift, not anymore. I wanted to bring something beautiful for Death. Something that would have sparkled on the lake’s surface. But I was too late, as usual.
Jackal: Have you ever heard that the early bird gets the worm? Maybe you should try staying awake during the day.
Owl: I thought about it. But what would I do if I got used to it? To the light. To the beautiful lies. I don’t want to lose the night. It’s the only place where I have ever felt at home. And I have already seen the price angels have to pay to become part of the world and be able to tell themselves that at least they still belong somewhere.
Jackal: Do you really think that you are the pet Death loves best? I keep Him company. I make sure that the bones remain buried, so that all that loneliness doesn’t come back to prey on Him. And what do you do? You fly. After your own selfish dreams. Away from everything and everybody else. I have seen birds like you before. You only come back when the mood strikes you. Bearing gifts. A mouse here. A soul there. Do you really think that you can buy your way into Death’s heart?
Owl: I don’t think anything, I know that I can. Do you know why Death will never love you best? It’s because you never leave His side. You are too close, and He cannot pretend. He cannot turn you into His dream. You are too real, just as ugly as those bones you make sure to keep out of His sight. But I come and go. I give Death a whole sky to fill in. With the beautiful things He wants to see in me.
Jackal: Is this really the entrance to Hell?
Owl: Why do you ask me?
Jackal: Because you are a bird, and you should know these things.
Owl: What does being a bird have to do with anything?
Jackal: If this were the entrance to Hell you wouldn’t be able to fly anymore. Your bones would fill with more and more regrets, sorrow and helplessness the closer you got to it. Until flying became impossible and you couldn’t even dream about it.
Owl: Even if that were true, why do I have to go first? Aren’t you a dog? I bet you can tell whether this is the entrance to Hell too. Why don’t you bark? If Death is on the other side of this lake, I am sure that he will welcome you with open arms and call you his best friend.