That creature — that detestable beast — that barn owl — now haunts me even in my slumber, my last bastion of sanity. No longer content at the peripherals of my vision, a shadow on my days, it invades a once-peaceful time, my little death between the grindings of life. What was once a bookmark, a pause of reality, has become one unceasing extension of horror.
Once, in a past so unfamiliar that it feels a dream, I enjoyed its presence. I…
