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oatmealdaydreams · 10 months ago

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The Owl Ornament

Oh boy, oh boy.

Warning: holidays & Christmas (?), vague religious themes, depression, themes of depersonalization & dissociation

Description: The mother gave her child an ornament; an owl made of faux white and grey feathers. Her child looked up at her, confused. They were a child. Children often got trains or turtles or pinecones. Not owls. Why would she give them an owl? 'You're smart,' she clarified, as if reading their thoughts. 'You're quite a wise child, darling. And pretty, of course, just like this little owl.' The owl was pretty, yes, but... how could a child be wise?

Extra: I'll post more fanfic soon, don't worry. A lil experimental with writing style. Please be kind with this one because it's based on a very personal experience of mine.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

Owls watch over the ground below, soaring silently in the mid of night.

They search and scan for any little rustle in the bushes or any glimpse of tiny fur by the base of trees. They listen for the squeaks, the pitter-pattering of teensy paws, the snuffling of whiskers. When owls find what they're looking for, they strike. They hold on and pay attention. They wait. They strike, and they always notice things that help them See what they need to.

Owls watch from above, no different from angels, and they See.

~~~

Ezra was always an observant child.

They were quiet. They would read instead of playing outside, listen to music instead of singing, draw small sketches instead of watching movies. The other kids thought they were weird. So did the adults, to be honest.

'At least they're quiet,' everyone always reasoned and justified. 'At least they listen and do as told. I wish my children were like that.'

They didn't just listen, no, that's not what the adults meant. Ezra was obedient to a nearly mindless degree, and that is what everyone always praised. Obedience and silence was all that mattered to them. That's it.

No one asked why they'd refuse to play with the other kids, or what they'd stay in their room for most hours of the day. That didn't matter to them. They didn't care enough to wonder why Ezra's eyes were always so grey.

And it confused Ezra when a school counsellor mentioned the unbalanced ratio of friends to books in their bag.

'You're very smart, Ezra,' she'd said, leaning forward slightly in her office chair. 'You read so much that I'm surprised you don't have more friends with all that knowledge to share.'

Ezra just stared at her. Why would people want to befriend the weird kid? People don't like weird; people don't like different.

'I'm sure you have lots to say, don't you?'

Ezra said nothing. They knew silence was better, more acceptable. Who want to hear a child's thoughts? People didn't like it when children spoke. People like silence.

The counsellor let them go back to class, a strangely worried look on her face as Ezra left.

~~~

At home was no different.

Ezra sat in silence, reading one of their beloved books. They liked sitting by their bedroom window and listen to the rain from outside. It was calming. It made everything feel... better, I suppose. Not best, mind you, but better. Sometimes, better is all we can afford.

Their mom never asked why, but Ezra liked to think she wondered. If she wondered, then she cared. Moms were supposed to care. Their mom cared, right? Of course, she did! She'd praise them for being quiet and doing chores. She'd tell them how much she wished Ezra's siblings were like them. She didn't have to worry about Ezra, not like the other kids. They were the least problematic. They were an easy child.

But, that's the thing: no child is truly easy; they just pretend to be.

Ezra wasn't easy. They were just good at faking being easy. That entailed not talking and reading books alone in their bedroom and doing as told as soon as they were told the instructions. These were acceptable conditions if it meant surviving- living. I meant living.

And to do so, Ezra had to watch. They had to See, and they Saw a lot. They Saw the way their mom's forehead creased when she was upset. They Saw how their siblings watched certain shows when Mom was around versus when she wasn't. They Saw how the other kids were with their parents, and it confused them when they saw how few people kept silent. Wasn't silence better over speech? Isn't that how it was for everyone? Isn't that just... normal?

They learned others had different experiences, that everyone did. That all sorts of people were different and weird and outcasted. Most people didn't like the weird and odd, but a few people did. Ezra liked those people. They didn't make them feel so alone. A nice fantasy, it seemed, because Ezra never met such a person like that before. They just saw them on the streets, walking. They Saw them, but no one ever Saw Ezra. Maybe they were just a ghost.

Maybe they were always a ghost.

~~~

Ezra liked the holidays and Christmas and everything- just like every other child did- but it always felt grey to them.

They saw the coloured lights and pretty animations, but it was through a grey lens. Maybe they should've gotten their eyes checked. Maybe something was wrong with them. It felt like they were a little storm cloud, hovering above the world and watching from far away. They watched as their hand flipped to the next page in their book. They watched as they blinked, lost in the trance of reading fiction and fantasy. It didn't really feel like reading; they didn't see any fairytale play out in their head. They just saw themself reading.

However, a knock on their doorframe jolted them from their trace. They looked up from the book, feeling groggy as if waking from slumber, and looked over to see who it was. There stood one of their siblings.

'Mom needs you,' is all their sibling said before running off.

Ezra closed their book, not before placing a handmade bookmark in it. Perhaps 'bookmark' is a strong word, since it was just a thinly folded piece of lined paper they took from one of their notebooks. Either way, after setting it down, they hopped off their bed and walked out to find their mom.

After a short venture down the stairs, they found her standing in the living room- which was also the dining room- in front of the fake Christmas tree. It was already decorated with ornaments and lights, evident from the few open tubs of stored holiday decorations. The tubs were usually kept in the under-the-stairs closet, but were probably out because of the holiday season. Ezra idly wondered if their mom would ask for help moving them back, and they really didn't want to deal with that. But they shouldn't be so selfish and lazy. If their mom asks, they should obey like they always do. Their mom likes that. That's what good kids do, right?

They stood behind their mom for a second before she turned around and slightly jumped, laughing it off as she put a hand on her chest. Where her heart was, or at least where Ezra assumed a heart would be in their mother.

'Ezra, I didn't see you there! I wanted to give you something for the tree,' their mom smiles lightly as she spoke.

She picks up an ornament from an almost-empty plastic bag, most likely from the local store.

The mother gave her child an ornament; an owl made of faux white and grey feathers. Her child looked up at her, confused. They were a child. Children often got trains or turtles or pinecones. Not owls. Why would she give them an owl?

'You're smart,' she clarified, as if reading their thoughts. 'You're quite a wise child, darling. And pretty, of course, just like this little owl.'

The owl was pretty, yes, but... how could a child be wise? Ezra didn't understand, but they accepted the gift anyway. It would be rude not to. It's best not to disappoint their mom. They didn't like to disappoint people. Disappointed people were scary.

'You should hang it on tree. I'm sure you'll find room for it somewhere, sunshine,' their mom smiled again.

She smiled a lot. She was a smiley woman. That's one thing about their mother Ezra loved; they loved her bright mom-smiles.

Ezra nodded, signing a quick 'thank you' before turning to the tallish tree. Fake, plastic pine needles were already shed on the floor underneath it. How can something fake seem so real? A lot of questions, huh Ezra?

They examined the tree with their eyes in a slow, methodical way. They couldn't seem to find a spot for their ornament. There were so many ornaments already, a crowded display of inside family jokes and places their mom used to travel to when she was a younger adult (she was so much freer than, according to her stories she often told her children). Ezra looked around on the sides of the tree, the front, the ups and downs of it, but still couldn't find room. They weren't looking for a good spot, just a spot. They decided to look around the back of it. It was surprising bare on the back of the tree, compared to everywhere else. After looking for a bit, a spot caught their eyes. They found a spot! It wasn't a really good spot; it was kind of hidden and in the middle of a weird place and in the lower areas where no one would really notice it. But hey, it was still a spot.

For some reason, as Ezra hung their owl ornament in that little spot, it made them feel weird. It felt... strangely like them. Unnoticed, not Seen, away from everything else. Distant. Small. Not bothersome for everything else. It just... felt like something they'd understand. And as Ezra looked at their small hidden owl, they did understand. They understood a little too well.

Ezra dismissed their thoughts and feelings about the spot. They walked back up the stairs quietly, their mom not even noticing them leaving. They went back to their room, back to their bed, and what to watching themself read from afar as if a ghost of a ghost.

This ghost was always an observant child.

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