I’ve given some thought to the things I’d like to do before I’m 30 years old. These are limited to personal and not professional pursuits. I cannot possibly list the amount of books I would like to read either. Lastly, I have not placed them in order of importance.
Welcome to the second installment of my fan fiction series, Hedwig and the Owlery. You can find the first episode here. Today Hedwig discovers a new home in the Hogwarts’ owlery.
Hedwig and the Owlery
Her time in Surrey proved uneventful. Hedwig wiled away the hours at Privet Drive much as she had at Eyelop’s Owl Emporium. The only difference was the lack of company. She would be grateful to meet the other owls at Hogwarts.
Platform 9 3/4 was terrifying, and the train ride was no better. Hedwig would have liked to fly as any normal owl would. The bumps and groans of the mechanical monster stirred her from sleep. Despite all of it, however she was glad to see the castle. It was a beautiful distraction from what had been a most distressing journey. The turrets stretched up and up until she could no longer see them. Perhaps it was a better home than the nest after all, she thought.
The Hogwarts’ owlery was a dirty but interesting location. During the evening Hedwig and other owls shared various potions they had nicked from their owners. The bottles, often having little effect on humans, were surprisingly potent for birds. Hedwig occasionally imbibed a drink or two before playing stolen gobstones or wizard chess with her claws. It irritated her greatly when the other owls cheated or demeaned her.
“Why play without rules?” Hedwig asked a doughy owl named Francis.
“Why play at all if you bother with rules?” He quipped to general applause. “How about a peck on the beak, sweetie?” She wished the others had not encouraged him..
Hedwig left the owlery. She preferred to fly around the grounds and explore. It was a particularly balmy autumn night, when she saw Hagrid emerge from the Hog’s Head with a suspicious looking package. Hedwig chose to ignore the problem as another distracted her.
Blood glittered in the moonlight but it was far from human judging by its color. Silver reflected from its streams and puddles. “Unicorns are bleeding,” she thought. Hedwig had only heard rumors but felt frightened. Something accursed had reduced itself to hunting unicorns and would therefore live a half-existence….
She continued to investigate, asking centaurs and other creatures in the forest. Firenze appeared to think the culprit was Lord Voldemort. Bane and the other centaurs weren’t so sure. They often saw many possibilities within the stars.
The trail went cold over the next few weeks. Hedwig took up playing wizard chess with Francis once more. His manners had improved considerably since the beginning of the school year. It may have been Hedwig hitting his face, or after one particularly vulgar display, writing home to his mother. It turned out owls could receive howlers as well. Her voice boomed across the owlery: RESPECT WOMEN OR I’LL MAKE SURE YOU HAVE NOTHING TO GIVE THEM BEHIND THE QUIDDITCH PITCH!
“It looks like a check mate,” Hedwig told him near the end of a game.
“Please don’t write my mother.” Francis looked worried.
For a long time, I’ve wanted to read poetry using Florence and the Machine. They have such powerful passion in their music. Perhaps because of this I feared I could not do them justice. But, I heard their song “Shake It Out” on the radio yesterday and knew I had to record something. Their lyrics had a profound effect on me, as I considered my own heart.
I’ve considered ways to change the format of my blog. I don’t believe it’s broken or unsuccessful, but I’d like to write more about myself. So, let me fill you in: I’m newly 27, I’m currently a substitute teacher looking for a full-time teaching job, I’m a Sagittarius (though I’ve never actually learned to spell it correctly), and I enjoy poetry. Of course, that’s the short version: I also like Harry Potter, Doctor Who, and most nerdy things.
Currently, I am single, but I don’t let it define me. There is a girl I like, but all good things in time. I’ve learned you have to enjoy the journey itself and not worry. I’ve been in relationships where I agonized over every word or detail and it wasn’t worthwhile. And it should be. If you don’t find comfort in each other, or feel amazing, then there’s no need to keep going (unless there are kids involved).
Apart from this, I enjoyed Christmas and only wish the adults had done more together: like board games or Mario Kart. Christmas should be about making children happy, but adults can have fun too. I think my niece and nephew would have understood watching Star Wars instead of Thomas the Tank Engine. Let’s face it, he’s a creepy train with a human face of undetermined origin. And I’m fairly certain at least one horseman in the apocalypse will resemble him.
So, rejoice. Another year has passed and I must dedicate more time to Goodreads. I’m planning a giveaway next month for my collection of poetry, Inhale the Night. But I also want to be a bigger part of the network and post in more groups. Also, I need to get advertising and tweets finalized. There’s a lot to do, but don’t worry, I leave the poem (and fun).
dreaming solid rocklike highs never climbed or sung before
I crash inside deficiency
near shaded trees,
as the grieving blues.
leather bound promises
eclipse an achromatic wilderness of
tenderness and strain.
these feelings won’t
go away, feelings
can’t go away, feelings
bleed, could go away,
pale death, go away.
Red Sea Revolt
war was always a red sea,
waiting to revolt, my dear,
and we have felt the burning sky
speak fire as the drones strike hearts.
About the Author:
Ben is a bestselling author of gnomes, plays, poetry and more. He was first published in his college publications the Cornfield Review and KAPOW. Since then he has been featured in several online literary journals including: Flurries of Words, Samizdat Literary Journal, and Shine Journal. You can find his collections of poetry, plays, novel, and short stories for purchase on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords.
Regina Puckett writes rhyming poetry but she does it with a lot of heart. I don’t normally enjoy rhyming myself, but I connected with the author. Her last words in particular resonated: “So I’ll crumple the ink filled sheet / And consider my life’s work complete.” There were only small issues with the formatting: the poem titles could be more distinct.