Missing Lewis

We study each other through the glass, his fins swirling the water around him. He blinks at me. Slowly, his mouth opens, and he blows a bubble. As it floats to the top, I can feel my heart grabbing in my chest. It pops. Wolfgang's a Betta, and trying to build a bubble nest, meant to house his offspring. Except, there will never be any offspring. He'll never even meet another Betta. I run my fingers over the surface of the bowl, and he follows them. When I pull away, he stays pressed up against the glass, watching me with his dark eyes.

The most painful part of an animal being sad, is that it's all they know. With people, we can pretend not to be, or blame others, or find a way to cope. But animals, they only know sad, an overwhelming depression that fills every part of them, and simply radiates pain to everything around them.

We just lost our duck, Lewis. His mate, Ping, couldn't be sadder. She won't leave the coop, she just stays tucked into her nest, wrenching heartbroken quacks into bedraggled feathers. Our dog, Jake, lays beside the fence door, waiting for a playmate who will never again come outside to play. Our chicken steps out, and he excitedly raises his head, clutching at the hope that this white feathered bird might be Lewis. I bite my lip as his head sinks back down.

Here's to you, Lewis. Your unmistakable squeak of a quack that always made me laugh. Your stunningly blue eyes. The way you dipped entirely underwater when you swam. The one curly feather that stuck out from your tail. The way you played with Jake and ruffled your feathers. The way you so lovingly protected Ping. Here's to you, Lewis. I love you, baby.

Heartbeat

My head lies curled up in my arms on my desk, so I can hear the tick of my watch, a gentle tug back into reality. It murmurs quietly, clicking metallicly. The bell sends me sweeping through the hallway, and I suddenly realize that I'm invisible. Without my telltale chaos of curls, I blend in, unrecognized. Later, they paint on someone else's skin, until I'm completely unrecognizable. The extra rolls of flesh aren't mine, and my own face is smooth beneath the painted wrinkles.

In the wings, I feel lost. I am not myself, where have I gone? Fear and sadness begin to well up inside of me, until I suddenly feel my heart, pounding against my chest. A gentle tug, back into reality, my heart. I am myself. And as it murmurs gently to me, I smile. I have found myself.

Wake-up Call

The hammock rocks back and forth, a searing orange in the earthen scene around it. My arms stretched over my head, my fingers and toes tangled in the strings. I can see the shafts of sunlight filtering through the trees, brushing over the soft dirt on the ground and lighting up parts of my skin. I'm surrounded by tree trunks, adorned with shuffling leaves and whistling birds. Rolling on my side, the hammock swings with a renewed vigor, and I shut my eyes, losing myself completely. Much later, I hear something moving in front of me. Opening my eyes, I find myself to be face to face with a white chicken. She cocks her head at me, ruffles her feathers, and continues to scratch at the ground. Laughing, I pull myself upright, finding the sun has already ran to the other side of the sky. Feeling strangely perfect, I return to reality, realizing that sometimes, all we need is a strange wake-up call.