Pictor's Very Special Collection of Bones: Part One

The following is the story of a worrisome, quirky, unsettling owl named Pictor whose hobby is to collect bones. To say any more would reveal too much; just read it! It'll change your life!

***

I'm feeling a bit stressed at the moment, but I've just collected so many exquisite pieces that I couldn't happier. One's from a mouse, one's from a sparrow, and another one is from an owl, like myself. What fine specimens! Oh, they excite me so!

I don't know what it is about bones -- their variety, their function, their structure -- that makes me so taken with them. Hunting for these beauties has been my release for as long as I can remember, but I am the only one who knows of this. I need them, you see, and if anybody else knew that, they'd declare me a loony and send me off to a nuthouse, I just know it! But I am not a loony, I swear upon the stars!

But, alas, the aforementioned stress remains, and the root of it all is my fiancée, Ursa, who is also an owl. We've got a young one on the way, you see, it's my job to take care of it at present, and the thought of being a father shakes me up like nothing else. What's worse is that Ursa's strictly traditional mother disapproves, as we aren't even married yet and we've already got an egg. Which is my next point! Marriage! Oh god! It's less than a month away, and I feel nothing! Complete apathy, all because I'm not ready to deal with it. Don't get me wrong, Ursa is all I can think about, but marriage is a huge commitment, and I'm having second thoughts, but not really, because I love Ursa and I'm going to marry her. God, I'm going to marry her!

Anyway, I get home that afternoon with all of my fabulous new bones wrapped up in some cloth and I find the loose tile in the floor of my studio. I carefully place my new ones in with my old ones and they introduce themselves. And so politely! What nice bones! I admire my collection for a moment. Oh, this one's one of my favorites: the skull of a chipmunk. How cute! I named it Alvin and I found it just lying around the forest. What a wonderful, effortless find. No violence! I just had to pick it up! Oho ho! Ha ha ha!

I put my bones back because Ursa will be home from work soon. She's an astronomer, and a darn good one, too. She's made many discoveries, both major and minor.

Myself, I'm an artist. A painter, to be exact. I was so caught up with my bones and Ursa that I'd forgotten to mention it! You know, I'd like to paint my bones one day but at present I could never capture their enrapturing beauty. Maybe I never will, but I'd like to.

I hear some fluttering outside. Ursa's home! I hear her call, "Pic! Open the door for me please! You won't believe what I've got!" I waltz over to the door and open it expectantly.

"Holy cow! That box is positively enormous! What's in it?" I exclaim.

"I'll show you!" she says happily, walking through the door. I close it behind her and follow her to the kitchen table. She sets the colossal box down carefully, stands on a chair due to its hugeness, and rips it open. "It's the greatest telescope in history!" she declares proudly.

"Wow!" I said. I didn't really know what to say. I had many questions, but I remained enthusiastic. "That's incredible! But how did you-"

"Help me get it out of the box!" she squealed, interrupting me. I agreed and, after a considerable amount of heavy lifting, we got the telescope out of its packaging.

"Oh my God, Ursa..." I said, astounded. The telescope was so incredibly complicated and big. It had a ginormous lens, so many buttons, and the knobs, the knobs! The sheer number of knobs made my head spin! The number of settings as well! I had no doubt Ursa could operate it, but...

"Ursa, dear, how on Earth did you afford this wonderful contraption?"

"Oh, it was a gift from Cygnus," she replied nonchalantly.

Oh, I get it now. Cygnus! That bastard! That slimy bastard!

"Well, then. Did he include a receipt? I'll just go and return it, after all, it might try to-"

"Oh, honey, calm down. I know how you feel about Cygnus, but I think he's sweet! I mean, look at this telescope!"

Okay, first of all, Cygnus is not sweet, unlike most swans. Ursa, Cygnus, and I all met each other in college, you see, and once Cygnus learned I was interested in Ursa romantically, he did all he could to kiss up to my Ursa and make me look like a fool in her eyes. Well, when he proposed to her, she rejected him. She had her eye on someone else, see; me! And I, her! Cygnus's plans failed! Oho ho! Ha ha ha! So she proposed to me and not Cygnus and he's hated my guts ever since.

"He's absolutely horrible, Ursa. You know he's only giving you that so you'll like him. He really doesn't quit, does he?"

"No, he doesn't. But still, it's kind of romantic, isn't it?"

It wasn't.

She continued: "To still try for me, even though he'll most definitely fail. It's so... Uhh..."

"Pathetic." I wanted to change the subject, so I did. "Hey, Simon's coming over today."

"Oh, he is? How nice. I love Simon."

Everybody loves Simon. How could they not? He's a snake who is determined to become a tap dancer. And such a friendly and talkative fellow! Simon is a lot of fun. We've been friends since we were infants.

"He wants to see how the egg is coming along," I tell her. "Oh, he should be here any minute, actual--""

I heard a knock and saw his smiling face through the little window in the door. I opened it and he slithered in, beaming.

"Hello Pictor! Hello Ursa!" he exclaimed excitedly, but then fearfully, he bellowed, "Oh my god, it's a hawk! Hide me, hide me!!"

"No, Simon, it's just a really, really big telescope! Look!" I explained to him. Simon edged closer, saw it, and sighed.

"Oh, phew, gosh, that was scary. Where did you acquire such a telescope?"

"Cygnus sent it to Ursa," I told him angrily.

"Oh. So that's why he looked so pleased with himself at work today."

I forgot to mention that Simon and Cygnus were coworkers in the IT department at some company.

"That would be the reason," I said to him, indicating the telescope. I didn't like all this Cygnus talk, so I changed the subject again. "Hey, Simon, the egg's in my studio. You go on in and I'll join you after I make a trip to the lavatory."

"Oh, yes! Oh, I'm so thrilled to finally meet the youngster!" Simon said happily. He slided down to my study while I opened the bathroom door and walked in.

While I was doing my business, I heard Simon say, "Hey, Pic, you got a loose board in your floor, you know."

My eyes widened and I froze. My pulse quickened. Don't panic, Pictor, stay calm...

"Hm?" I called. "No I don't!" Whoops. I sounded way too manic.

"Nah, you totes do, man! Hear it squeakin'?" I heard it squeakin'. "Hm, I wonder if -- Oh... What the? ...Oh my GOD! PIC! YOU GOT BONES IN YOUR FLOOR, ARE YOU AWARE OF THIS!? PIC!! Oh, oh, Pic, I think I'm gonna be sick! PIC, WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY ARE THERE FLIPPIN' BONES IN YOUR GOSH-DARNED FLOOR?!"

TO BE CONTINUED

Cuckoo in the Nest!

This week's story is told from the point of view of a baby cuckoo bird, who invades a nest and tricks the dumb birds who live there into caring for him. This is what cuckoos actually do. It's a classic!

***

It's dark. And cramped. I think I'm in the air. I hear whooshing. Where am I going. If I'm even going somewhere. Maybe I'm just floating. I hope so. I want to float someday. Maybe someday.

Oh no oh no now I'm falling. Oh wait I'm fine. Yes, I'm okay. My compartment is intact. It hit something soft and rustle-y. I hear something. "Bye, sweetie! Be good!" it said, to me, I think. "This is a nice, well-kept nest. You'll thrive here, don't you worry..." This thing sounds kind, but sad as well. I'll miss it. I heard more whooshing and now it's gone and now I'm alone.

I stay still for a bit. Not that I can do anything else. Nothing happens for some time. But then there's a disturbance and I'm rocking back and forth a bit. I hear some whooshing and a shrill, gravelly, croaking, oddly feminine voice with some accent scream, "HONEY!! Are yeh back from work yet? I'm stawvin'!"

I hear it, or her, coming towards me and I tense up in my compartment. She says to herself, "Oh gawsh, look at the kids. They're awl so byootiful." She hops even closer to me and I can tell she's right above me. "This one's new, ain't it? Aw, I gotta ask him, I don't keep tracka dis stuff." There's silence for a moment, which is nice because this thing is really getting on my nerves. "Kay kids, momma's gonna go have a smoke and then a nap and then who knows what," she declares. I hear whooshing and my compartment adjusts back to its original position.

I get bored. I want to break out now. Of whatever's confining me, I mean. I don't know how, though. I don't understand how one -- oh, wait, that ridiculous thing is back.

"Wanda? Where are ya, babe?" says a different voice than before. Oh hold on. This is a different thing. This voice is smoother, with the same accent, but deeper and more pleasing to listen to than that other yappy and rough-sounding voice. "Wanda? Wanda, where -- Oh, Wanda, get away from dat tower ting! Iss bad fuh ya lungs! Dat stuff comin' outta it'll kill ya!"

"Oh, there ya are!" replies what I deduce to be Wanda. Her voice comes closer and I hear whooshing. "Did ya bring food or somethin'? If I don' eat right dis minute momma's gonna go on a... a RAMPAGE!" she yells, clearly very proud of her wide vocabulary.

"Yeah, I got some worms for youse," the other voice, not Wanda, says. "But I want yeh to stay far away from dat ting wit the smokey stuff floatin' out. It ain't good for yeh, and the people livin' in the box it's attached to prolly ain't gonna like dat yer stealin' their stuff."

"Oh, honey," says Wanda to her spouse. I still don't know his name. "They don't care! Not one bit! An' dis smoke is doin' me good, I sweah on my mothah's mothah! It makes me feel ALIVE!"

They argue some more, and I've had enough of this now. I start pushing against the walls surrounding me, and it cracks and cracks. Wanda and Larry notice.

"Oh, honey!! Oh, babe, look! It's hatchin'! Our first child is hatchin'! Oh, I hope it's a goil, I've awlways wanted a daughtah!" exclaims Wanda. I burst out rather anticlimactically and look at my new parents. One is very fat and has stubby wings. The other is suave and sleek. "Oh, it's a boy," says Wanda, who is clearly disappointed. It appears that Wanda is the fat one. She perks up: "But 'e's my son! He's our son, and I love 'im! Oh, honey, let's name 'im Junior, after his fawtha, Junior, Sr.!"

"Oh, Wanda, he's wondahful, just like 'is mothah! Let's go find some food for 'im! Be right back, Junior, Jr.!" promises Junior, Sr., my new father. They fly off together, happy as can be.

I look around the nest. There are lots of other white oval things here, like the one I came out of, and my instincts tell me to push them off. So I do. One by one they fall, splat splat splat splat. It's kind of a mess down there now. Oh well.

Wanda and Junior, Sr. return bearing lots of berries and worms and other things. "All fuh you, son!" says Junior, Sr. as he lays the wad of nourishment down in the nest. Then, Wanda gasps the loudest, most frightening and dramatic gasp I have ever heard. Eyes wide with panic, she screams, "OH LAWD! WHERE ARE THE OTHAH CHILDREN?!"