As I woke, the emerging sun on the horizon shone through my window, the household slept and all was silent. I could hear the birds singing, bringing joy to the world outside.
I crept from my father’s room, with his gun, leaving him in a dream state. I walked out the door heading to the stables; the warming sun was accompanied with a calm breeze.
An owl, with big golden eyes, and fiery white feathers, high above on a beam, dawned down on me. I held my breath; urine-scented hay stained the air surrounding me.
My first shot left him stunned, he swayed. I became afraid of the situation I was in, and the gun was dropped. Death is supposed to be clean and final, not this obscene.
The owl hobbled in its own blood, closer to me, unable to bear the light. His golden eyes met mine, I saw pain and misery. “End what you have begun” my father said, as he strode to my side.
I fired. I took one last glance into the owls eyes, new emotions swept through me, ones that I am unfamiliar with, devastation.
I lent my head upon my father’s shoulder, and wept.

Owl slept in early sun, for what I had begun.