Blogger seems kind of quiet lately. And I'm itching to read some short fiction. Why don't you write something so I can read it? With owls? Yes. There you go. Owls. Teeny fic. Please. Look, I'll get you all started:
He could turn his head all the way around on his neck, like an owl. His eyes were bright yellow. He swore he wasn't the devil's son, but who could tell anymore? I took his proffered feathers and tucked them beneath my breasts, and in the night when he sat outside in the one hundred year old oak, I pretended he was an owl. A few dead mice on the back porch, minus their heads, and I knew he was mine. My own owl-boy, screeching curses at the shadows, keeping the demons at bay, while I tossed and turned under snow white sheets.
Okay, that's terrible. You can all clearly do better. Owl fic!