A Fowl Predicament

This story was written for a prompt in a creative writing group I belong to. The prompt was to write a story in which the protagonist has to do something he doesn't want to do, but some force or obligation draws him to do it. Only we had to bring in a character, which was secretly written on a slip of paper and given to us at the beginning of the session, comes into the situation at the moment of question.

It was Grandmother’s vase. Mom had used that fact like a weapon every time my siblings and I were to be left alone in the study while she and Dad entertained guests in the family room. And it worked for all these years. We would keep our games at a safe distance from the table as if there was some invisible bubble or shield around it, and we would tiptoe as we went anywhere near it, to prevent any chance of an accident.

One would think that now, as an adult, I would put the same emphasis on precaution, though maybe less extreme, into making sure that Mom’s precious vase, passed down between matriarchs of the family, was not harmed. It wasn’t even that attractive of an object, looking like the crafter fell asleep at the potter’s wheel and never bothered to fix its deformities. But it was Grandmother’s vase, and that seemed to validate everything.

When it was time for Mom to be moved to the nursing home, she insisted on the vase coming with her. My sister hadn’t married yet, but once she had, Mom would then pass it on to her only daughter.

It turned out that I was given the task of transporting the vase to Mom’s new home. The better part of me was proud that I of the three sons was most trusted with the task, like I was some important figure assigned an integral mission. But deep down I knew that my brothers opted out, leaving me as the “volunteer.”

I took great care securing the vase in the box, going overboard with industrial-strength bubble wrap. As if I was a kid again, I almost literally tiptoed with the box, not wanting to bump into anything on my way. I felt like I was on the bomb squad carrying something highly explosive if dropped.

Needless to say, I was relieved once the vase was in place. Mom would be happy, and the burden would be lifted from my shoulders. But, as if I was under some curse or some higher power was playing a practical joke on me, it happened. On my departure, I sidestepped to avoid Mom’s walker, and in doing so, I bumped the end table with the vase on it.

Now I was in it up to my ears, and as much as I wanted to keep my mouth shut, I knew I would have to tell Mom that the vase had broken. The words raced in my head, and I scrambled to catch the best ones I could.

I paced about the room, dreading Mom’s return from her doctor’s appointment. Fortunately, no one was around to refute any claim I’d make, so I decided on a story. The table leg was weak, and as I carefully set the vase onto the table, it gave way and fell out of my grasp, crashing on the floor. It was too perfect.

Normally I was not a liar, and I blame Mom for that. I shared her honesty to a fault. I even fessed up to going out with another girl while still with my ex-girlfriend back in high school. Just knowing I had lied to my own mother was like gouging my own eyes out. But some things had to be done, I convinced myself.

A whooshing sound from the balcony redirected my attention. I ran to the other room to see what it was, and nearly passed out when I noticed the dominated presence of a purple owl flying in circles about the ceiling. Yes, a purple owl, of all things.

Mom didn’t need this. I swatted at the bird in a paranoid attempt to scare it out of the room. But the creature was persistent, and it dove through the doorway into the hall. I chased it, mumbling curses under my breath as the owl entered the living room.

My heart stopped at the click of the front door being unlocked. Mom was home! She was guided inside by my older brother and almost melted from his grasp when her eyes locked on the fallen vase. And the owl hovering in the air above it.

“You evil creature! How could you destroy my vase? I’ll report your owner to the authorities!”