Curiosity Killed the Cat

The Owl

Kat's POV

I sit, legs criss crossed and my back perfectly straight. My gloved hands wrap around a mug of hot tea. I sip and watch the others, their faces flickering in the firelight. The flicker seems familiar. It reminds me of something that I can't quite place.

But it doesn't matter. All I want is to fulfill my assignment and be on my way. That's my only purpose in life. It's my only motive.

Prosper plops down next to me, ruining the moment. "I've never been this far into the woods."

"None of us have," I answer simply.

"This whole mission is stupid, don't you think? The savages have moved on. We might never see them again if we don't pursue them."

I shoot an accusing glare towards him. "Don't question orders. If we were given them, then they must be completely logical."

"I liked the old Katerina better," he mumbles under his breath.

I bolt up. My eyes are cold and calculating. "You're acting like a child. We're soldiers now."

I scoff as everyone looks at me, half alarmed and half curious. "I'm taking the next watch."

I kick out the guy who is currently doing watch and climb a tree. I surprisingly do it with ease, knowing exactly where to place my feet and what branches not to grab on to. I take it that my reflexes are amplified more than the others.

I sit in a 10 foot tree, satisfied with the cool, still night air that I breath. Back in The Walls, it'd be hours after curfew. Common folk will never get to know what late night air feels like. The soldiers are privileged. We're free from uptight rules and curfews, as long as we follow orders and do our job. I see that that requires more seriousness that common folk at times. But it is the only way one can get a taste of freedom. I'll do anything the government tells me as long as I can do this.

An owl hoots. Startled, I point my rifle at it. I have a clear shot and would be able to take it down if it showed to be any type of threat. It's yellow eyes flicker in the night and I know that it's watching me too.

I don't shoot the owl, but not only because he's harmless. But he's like me. Night vision, a hunter. Free to do as he pleases but still has to work hard in order to eat. He hunts mice, as I hunt savages. There's something very cold about him as well.

Cold and, well, lonely.

Shut up. You're not lonely. You don't have time for that.

The owl and I stare at each other for a while. I wonder if he's actually lonely too...

Someone below me disturbs a bush, creating a loud racket. The owl gives a startled hoot and soars away. A part of me wishes that I could do the same.