Short Stories?

Secrets

so spontaneous, it coos.

such a hinderance, it shakes it's head.

yet, the owl does not speak. not a word about it to the songbird, the dragon, the monkey, the dog, the wisp, and not even the cat.

no. it stays silent. 

at night, its feathers become as black as the inky sky that surrounds it and takes flight. never did it ever feel so free. they cawed and cawed and cawed their woes.

no longer was it a symbol of wisdom. it was a symbol of death.

and it did, death slowly took over it's mind. 

and it welcomed it. it welcomed death and held it in.

i promise, it whispers, i promise to go soon.

soon....

soon....