March 28

---

Cyrus checked his watch. Yep, no way he was going to make it in time. The little bird, white with purple accents, had lucked out and gotten free tickets to a baseball game on Opening Day for the Red Sox — very hard to come by!

Unfortunately, he’d underestimated just how bad the traffic would be in Boston, and by the time the first pitch was scheduled to be thrown, he found himself stuck in an Uber in logjam traffic several blocks away from Fenway Park.

Cyrus couldn’t really tell what the hold-up was, but he figured it must be pretty standard traffic for a Red Sox game, especially on Opening Day.

Then the shaking started.

A deep, low rumble every couple of seconds, increasing in strength and volume. Earthquakes were exceedingly rare in this part of the country, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky for it to be thunder. But the ground was shaking and heaving as if the city was being hit by a magnitude 7 earthquake.

It soon became clear what was responsible — or rather, who. An immense, broad-shouldered owl rose over the horizon from the north, looming over every building in the city. Clouds of dust rose from his thick, heavy paws with every step he took, easily flattening every building that lay in his path with an air of indifference.

For a brief moment, Cyrus wondered whether this was some sort of pregame show or stunt put on by the Red Sox. But the throngs of furs streaming out of the stadium and past his car made it clear this was real, very real.

Cyrus got out of the car, fully intending to join the fleeing crowds — there was no way a vehicle could navigate the packed streets — but instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, captivated by the colossal, approaching avian.

As the titan got closer, Cyrus could begin to make out details: The leather straps and primitive clothing that left little to the imagination. The braided feathers descending from his head, like hair. The debris raining down from his soles each time he raised them to take another step.

“Y o u w i l l s u b m i t ,” the owl spoke with a voice that rumbled even deeper than Cyrus imagined possible. It was as if he fully expected Bostonians, of all people, to be deferential to him. Then again, as colossal as he was, he had every reason to demand such respect.

A veritable tidal wave of water erupted as the owl took his next step, and Cyrus surmised he had reached the Charles River. The beast didn’t even flinch at stepping in the water; it was nothing but a puddle to him. The fleeing crowds, meanwhile, were pelted by riverwater suddenly falling from the sky.

Cyrus remained where he was, shielding his eyes so he could watch the powerful being continue his march through Boston without being blinded by the “rain.” Two more steps. One demolishing I-90 as if it were made of toothpicks. The next leveling Fenway Park itself, the historic ballpark vanishing in an instant beneath a thick, yellow avian sole.

That finally snapped Cyrus out of his trance. The little white bird turned to join the mob fleeing down the street. He didn’t make it a single step, however, before the owl spoke again.

“Y o u w i l l r e m a i n s t i l l ,” the owl boomed, his chilling voice cutting right through Cyrus. He froze. The owl was likely addressing the fleeing crowds, but he spoke with such authority that it felt as if he was speaking directly to Cyrus. The little bird turned his head back up toward the advancing colossus in time to see the owl’s tremendous paw raise high above him.

And then, with the same indifference the titan had shown to everything else that had crumbled under his feet, the paw fell again, directly onto the tiny avian. Cyrus was in an instant flattened like a pancake, the soft underside of the owl’s foot exerting extraordinary force on the poor bird’s body.

But Cyrus, by some miracle, remained alive. The bird found himself completely compressed into the enormous owl’s sole, a fact that the owl likely was not even aware of. The behemoth’s paw raised again, and Cyrus could feel the wind brush against the few parts of his back that had not been thoroughly enveloped by the larger avian’s sole.

He was entirely stuck, beak buried in the owl’s thick paw. And it seemed it would be a long while before the owl peeled him off.