It was a colorfully lit night, blinding to say the least, there were lights everywhere, glowing billboards scanning you and showing you all you want to see, rainbow lights glowing out of the windows of those who partied their lives away, the LED lights of restaurants and businesses welcoming you in, and the constant spotlights in the distance of police, every night, I saw them, the lights. Ever since I was a kid, they scared me, like glowing eyes of a monster coming to swallow me, but they never did swallow me, at least not until recently.

That colorful night, I was relaxing in my apartment gazing out the window at everything going on in the lighted up city, as I normally do like many others, my dog Churro sat in my lap relaxing with a normal glass of stale water sitting beside me on a table. It was what I liked, it was what was considered normal, more normal than the abundance of crime in our city. A loud “THWAP!” at the door interrupted our relaxation, both Churro and I jumped in our seat and were still until I took Churro off my lap and set him on the ground, Churro ran off to go hide under the couch as I made my way to the front door with casual steps.

I opened the door and everything inside my body froze except for my pumping heart, ready to pump out of my body and make me fall dead, officers, they were here, I shakily asked them what I did, they said I would have to come with them. I felt myself unable to speak, unable to stick up for myself as Churro buried himself under the couch, hoping he was safe there and leaving me to these terrifying police officers. I hadn’t done anything, I didn’t remember doing anything, I knew what they were going to do if I came with them, so I shoved by one of them and ran, ran for my fake sense of freedom, there was yelling, but it all was a blur in my head, I was unable to register anything until a bullet rang by me.

I rammed my arm into the staircase and it began to swell as I made my way to the stairs and rushed down, nearly falling over my own feet and sweating while the sound of the metal door slamming open played a second time in the background. My breathing became heavy, it felt like there was a weight on my chest and I felt like I was going to black out, but instead of blacking out and falling to my doom, I just kept moving my legs as I did rushing to a day of late work. This was not rushing to a late day of work, or going to work at all, during that run down the stairs with yelling I never remembered asking myself why I was running, maybe if I did ask myself what I was doing then I would stop and get caught, that would have been a much better option in that case, but sometimes, opportunities fly by.

I ran outside the emergency exit and the alarm wailed inside and outside the building, I quickly looked around for something, a hiding place, an escape, anything, and a fence over a trash bin caught my eye. I ran over to it and hoisted myself into a leap over the bin, tumbling into some terribly smelling trash bags full of who-knows-what, I froze myself like some kind of animal reaction when I heard the emergency door open back where I used to be, the officers said some things to each other and all ran to different spots, my hiding spot not included.

Once I thought I would be safe, I slowly rose from the trash bags with my clothes covered in different disgusting types of muck that must have spilled out of the bag while I hid. I wished I had brought cologne or a new, normal pair of clothes, but now I had gotten myself stuck on the run and I would likely not be able to get new clothes for some time unless this ended with me in jail. With a push, I got myself off the trash bags and onto the breaking, slightly overgrown, concrete path of the alleyway and walked in the ever growing shadows to the edge of the alley to peek out at my surroundings…

It was a small, normal, unpopulated, lonely street, no one roamed the cramped street at this hour, not even cars, if cars even had a chance to get to this street. After a few minutes of checking around, I walked into the street, thinking about what I should do next, I quickly remembered the police, why had they been at my door? I felt like I had to wonder, and soon I had felt like I truly needed to know why. I could have always been framed with some of my DNA at the scene, but what if I had truly committed a crime? I continued to walk as I pondered, what if I retraced my steps from the day before? If I did that, I would be able to find out if I had actually done something, if I ran into a crime scene, I would turn myself in, if I found nothing, I would use that in my trial for innocence. I had thought I was innocent and hadn’t done something, so it sounded like a good idea to a man who just wanted to sit at home with his dog.

But where would I start..? Well, one thing I do remember is the bar I went to that night before, so I began to walk to the closest street to try to find the correct route to the bar. I slightly recognized the street once the sign telling the name of it came into view, I thought best I could and what I managed to put together was the fact that the bar was near, but people were also near, on the street I had to walk on to get to the bar.

Shuddering, I stepped onto the sidewalk of the new street

I had to hope as hard as I could for no one to recognize me or no cops to jump out of alleyways at me like the older kid trying to scare a child in a corn maze, but in this case, I would need more than just hope to avoid being caught.

I put on a poker face and took some semi-confident steps forward, acting as one of the others on the street, acting normal, like how I usually would. I tried to avoid biting on my lip because if I did, I would likely bite my lip off instead of just biting it, and I don’t think a bit off lip would help me look any more normal than I was already trying to be.

Normal, normal, every step played that word in my head as the area began to reek of rubbish and smoke, myself having no concern for what might be burning. Normal, normal, trying not to hold my breath as sirens play in the background like instruments at a chaotic, unorganized orchestra, only worrying about the sirens possibly coming for me. Normal, normal, stepping over an unconscious, drunken man sprawled across the sidewalk without a second thought, just like the others, just like everyone else, rejecting the things that make me different from them to fit in, just like everyone else.

It all felt like a blur until I eventually managed to get to another road sign, my focus came back to me and I stopped to read it

“Second street”, I silently read to myself, the two words played in my head for a few minutes until I eventually realized this was the street I was going to. Somehow, I didn’t feel relieved, I only felt even more nervous, the tension only I could feel grew by the moment as I remembered what I came here for, what if I had actually done something? The memories of the past night were only just starting to come in, walking down the street normally with some similarity to the way I had just walked down it seconds ago, but instead of being on the run, I was tiredly yet normally walking to the bar for a break after a long day of normal work and stopped at this sign, just as I had now. I didn’t remember what happened next in that memory, so I checked the street in front of me and began to walk as I had before, normally, just like what is expected of me, it was a normal walk, just like the one I had done the previous night, maybe I could fit in enough for the cops to leave me unnoticed, I thought to myself, maybe, just maybe.

With normal breaths, I continued on my walk, passing by many different people I didn’t care about who wouldn’t care about me back, I passed by a man who was reading the paper with many numbers written around in the main topic, numbers that were made to impress or scare. Numbers made to scare were common in the paper today with the protests, crimes, all that, you eventually grow to expect it and become surprised when there are no numbers in the paper. But that almost never happens, so we continue to gloss over numbers with a quiet gasp or woah, even when they may just be fictional numbers we may never actually find to be true. There is another name some of us use to call these, lies, but we never tell each other in conversation, it wouldn’t be normal.

I eventually had noticed how far I walked, deep in thought, but I was also able to recognize the area of the street, the bar would just be ahead, taking deep inhales and exhales, I sped up my walking as my eyes began to notice lights ahead. My walking became faster, too fast to be considered normal as I saw a bright light in the distance focus on me, my nerves peaked as I began to run to the distant, coming closer, yellow tape with the words “DO NOT CROSS” plastered on them. My memory caught up with me and so did some police coming in behind me, the bright white lights began to swallow and blind me in my final steps to the yellow tape and my final steps away from what was considered normal to the common human, the only glimpse I caught before being dragged away was one I still vividly remember, a dead body.

After finishing a dinner of chicken, boiled green beans, and homemade bread, Arthur Smith carefully donned his spotless sheepskin coat, and clipped on his shiny blue and white Audubon membership tag. In his left pocket, he dropped a pricey amber-colored flashlight that, if the blaring advertisement on the package had been credible, could shine as far away as three nautical miles. In his right pocket, he gently placed his leather wallet, containing various membership cards, his driver’s license, and five ten-dollar bills. Shouldering the strap of the case of his night vision goggles, he set out across the driveway to his convertible sports car. I’m armed to the teeth, he thought. Or at least I’m better prepared than Jim Miller, that ragamuffin.

*

Meanwhile, Jim Miller was hopping onto his rusty bicycle and pedaling into the pitch black evening. A few minutes prior, he had been yanking on a cloth jacket so tattered it looked like it had been attacked by a pitbull, and hastily gobbling half of a grimy peanut butter sandwich that he had plucked from his pants pocket. I may not have all that fancy junk that Arthur does, but I have just as much chance of hearing an owl, Jim thought as he sped away towards the forest.

*

Arthur’s car screeched to a halt (If a car with such well oiled brakes could screech) into the parking lot of the nearest Audubon sanctuary. Arthur stepped out of his car, and shut the door with a satisfactory slam, perforating the stillness of the brisk November air. He then headed out into the woods, his flashlight tightly gripped by his right hand.

*

At the other end of the forest, Jim parked his bike and flipped his kickstand down into the gravelly soil. He stuffed a few crumpled bills into a rusty collection tin near the trailhead, and briskly trotted away.

The woods were somber and mysterious on that brisk November evening. The spring peepers and and crickets had long ceased their evening concerts, and were deep in slumber in their warm subterranean burrows, safe for the long cold winter months. The forest was plunged into a deadly silence, interrupted only by the tramping of Jim’s feet. Suddenly a moaning, soulful cry pierced through the quiet.

*

Arthur Smith had had the scare of his life. He leaned against a skeletal maple tree, panting like a dog as he attempted to untangle a cobweb of panicked thoughts. First I was walking through the woods and then I was bolting, he thought. What happened? Only after racking his brain for a good five minutes could he recall having seen an ominous shadow swoop across the path.

An owl! I should have known. Now I’ve missed my chance, Arthur groaned. I just saw an owl and I ran away from it! I was just trying to hear an owl, and I just threw away a chance to exceed my goal. Just as he was slumping down into the depths of despair, a cheery little voice popped out of the corner of his mind--Maybe if you imitate an owl’s cry it will come back, it sang out. Arthur opened his mouth and uttered the low moaning call of a Great Horned Owl.

*

An owl! Jim could not believe his ears. He had heard an owl and it was barely ten o’clock. He had expected to have to wait much longer, but he had barely begun hiking through the deserted, leafy, trails. Jim had heard somewhere or other that if you imitate an owl’s call it might return the compliment. His lips parted, and released a fair imitation of a night-bird's cry.

The aftermath was electrifying. In just seconds the reply rang out into the night. Not wanting to push his luck or get hurt in the midnight woods, he turned on his heels and slowly dragged his feet back to the parking lot. He hopped on his bike, and pulled out into the street, his sleepy eyelids drooping. After having nearly crashed into multiple stop signs, he finally made it home, and slumped into bed.

*

Again and again Arthur called into the darkness, and again and again the creatures of the night refused to acknowledge him. Oh well, he thought, at least I heard it a few times. Minutes passed, and he finally trudged back to his car and cruised homewards. I can’t wait to tell Jim, he thought, he will be so mad to know that I heard an owl and he didn’t! He crawled under his warm woolen blankets, and slept soundly through the night.

*

As both Arthur and Jim awakened in the fresh Autumn dawn, they recalled pleasant memories of the night before. Many stories would be told about it. But for the rest of their lives, neither would realize what had really happened.