Wonder

Participants:

seren_icon.gif

Scene Title Wonder
Synopsis Something Seren had lost comes back to them.
Date October 23, 2018

Halifax, Nova Scotia


Rain is falling so hard it streaks against the windowpane, but the window's pushed out open anyway. It lets the scent of petrichor drift in.

It's a dismal day, and it's getting too cool to really leave the windows open at all, but that's okay. Cool fall days are perfect for painting.

For bringing light and life and color to places that need it.

Like one's own heart.

There are days when the sun comes out

It's been hard since graduation. A lot harder than they thought it would be. All of their friends had gotten jobs by now. Even Axel had gotten steady work.

Reaching through the clouds

Seren sniffs after setting down the can of white paint, wiping under their nose with a streak of their forearm. Days when the world seemed dark and one could imagine shadows in every corner — they were a little more real for them. They didn't just imagine negativity blurring the corner of their vision, it actually did.

And it wouldn't shut off. It just wouldn't shut off.

The grey hanging in the corners of the room is too much to bear.

"Color," Seren breathes after slathering the canvas in a healthy coat of pure white that had been meant, at one point, for their bedroom walls. They feel a little better at seeing even that brightness, but feelings of negativity continue to swirl at the base of their skull despite the lightening felt at the topmost part of their being. Maybe a dash of color would help with the rest.

And I don't know how to explain

Behind them on the kitchen table lays the latest rejection letter, received via post after what they'd thought had been a promising interview.

Maybe they shouldn't have brought Baird.

He'd insisted on not being left behind, but—

That feeling that I get

And maybe it's why he wasn't here now.

Seren catches sight of the letter when they turn back to clean their brushes.

When it rains, people stay in

The cap of the trash can is still swishing as they continue dabbing color on the canvas with more fervor than before. Even as the painting develops, they question if this was a good idea after all. Rainbows pour from their brush, but they can't pull it back out of their soul, and it makes the ache that much stronger.

They hadn't been able to shake this feeling for days — the dark.

They hadn't seen Baird in nearly a week.

Like it might help, Seren suddenly uncurls their fingers from the brush and plunge their fingertips into the streaks of color on the canvas. The cool, thick paints give way under their touch, clinging and staining, just like the tears that stream down their cheek. Fingertips lean into whole fingers turn into palm, the subject of the painting thoroughly ruined. It didn't matter, though — it was all symbolic to begin with.

They wish they could reach through the canvas to find anything that would restore their center of self. To make them believe in their own dreams again. To find some shield for their person that would shelter their confidence from the harsh critiques thrust upon them, and the courage to recover from it and go back to being unapologetically themself.

It'll be okay. One way or another, it'll all be okay.

It just—

Kids write their names

It just feels like they're losing pieces of themself in the process.

Around the edge of the canvas, a white axolotl with frilly pink fringes crawls into Seren's view, turning its ever-smiling face their way. Eyes limned in glistening silver, they lower their hand from the canvas. The idea their subconscious has delivered is a good one — maybe they should call Axel.

Then they wince at their own idea, and doubly wince that that's their reaction to it. They know better, yet can't shake the feeling they'd just be a burden, whining, unwanted, unqualified; unmotivated to just get it in gear already and land this adulting thing. That somehow because their best human friend had made it work, they'd just be dragging him down by even mentioning the struggles they're going through.

They should just deal with it, on their own. Like an adult.

in windowpanes that they

What a horrible way to live.

steamed up with their breath

Serendipitously, they happen to disenchant themselves of the moment and of their emotional state and look toward the window. Like a drop of water, the sight breaks the stillness, the unchangingness of their depression and sends ripples through their perception of reality.

Because there, sitting on the sill, is a great horned owl.

Posture straightening, Seren's brow arches. Did they do that? It would make sense if that were the case. Owls were symbols of wisdom, guidance. The Greeks believed them to be filled with an inner light, a sign of victory. Yet the Greeks and English and even some Native Indian tribes all thought horned owls, specifically their calls, to be omens of death as well. It sits there silent, unblinking. Reaching out with their ability, Seren tries to nudge the bird to preen itself, but it simply sits and continues to observe.

Wonder dawns gradually in their eyes, feet shifting slowly. What in the world was an owl doing here?

The proud horned owl does not answer, for it is a thing of reality, not from mythology, or even from Seren's imagination. It does not provide a reason for its appearance, and certainly not any reason for anything that happens next.

Boys and girls, it's a big wide world

The broad wingspan of the owl almost clips Seren as they stumble back, yelping. They knock into the canvas, and color clings to the black of their shirt after the easel collapses and takes the painting with it. Hands lift to try and shield their head, turning to see where the bird goes next. The horned owl's claws scrape on the island countertop as it alights, head dipped as it takes stock of every potential threat that might exist to either its quarry, or its way out. An orange rolls off the side of the countertop, and the plate next to the owl clatters after having been brushed, nudged ever so slightly out of place. The owl shuffles to the side, one of its clawed feet nabbing the chicken breast leftover on the plate, deep yellow eyes swiveling to Seren in an instant that feels like an eternity.

With a billion stars we're under

With the other foot, it lunges forward and its wings spread again, pumping wide and then gracefully flaring back once it meets that narrow exit, only wingtips grazing the side of the frame as flies out the window after making its decisive grab. Wide-eyed, Seren rushes over to the window and plants either hand on the sill to lean forward as far as possible to watch it go.

They're not sure when, but the rain stopped and the clouds began to part. Between pronounced clouds the sky flickers intensely, a backdrop of rainbow light animating the sky the owl soars off into. Seren's heart catches in their throat.

It's not unusual to see the aurora this far north, but it was still daytime, and it looked so powerful, and bright, and…

"Proud," Seren whispers to themself, left in awe about the bizarre series of events that just unfolded. Their shoulders slope as they look up toward the skies, and their gaze tracks even higher still before they close their eyes, cherishing the feeling that's sunken into their chest.

It's a miracle to be here at all

They let out a staccato laugh, shaking their head to themself. When their eyes open again, their gaze tracks down and they suck in a breath of alarm, lifting their hands off the sill. The rainbow palmprint left behind winks up at them from its new seat among the beige window frame.

Shoot, Seren thinks, but even that's a hollow, light thought, overall unperturbed. They're still in that moment, and everything they felt in it, their attention turning skyward again.

At least, until there's a clatter behind over by the easel.

A small creature, barely taken form, is standing on the canvas, the paint clinging to it its most pronounced feature in its fuzzy existence. The greyed blob looks up in alarm, caught red-handed in … whatever it was doing. Seren, though, couldn't look more happy to find it there.

To find him there.

To hear the call of thunder

"Baird!" Seren exclaims, voice pitched high. The creature shimmers, shifting more yellow than grey, and leaps up into their arms as they rush over, hugging the odd shadow of a Baird as tightly as they possibly can. Incredulous, a laugh escapes them on their next breath. "I missed you."

Baird emits a noise akin to a cat purring, though it sounds more like the buzzing of a gathering of bees. Equally catlike, he kneads paws without formed toes around Seren's shoulder and arm as he clings right back to Seren.

They know he's happy, too, even if there's no answer for where it is he's been, only what's brought him back.

Isn't that a

The return of a certain sense of…

wonder?


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