The Moon House was an enigma in and of itself, hidden away from the rest of the world behind a forest of oak trees. It was too far into the woods for children to throw rocks at the windows and prank the family who lived inside, so it was content to stay where it had been built, as most houses were.

On the rare occasion that Soren was able to enjoy watching the forest awaken in the morning, he would sit in front of the arched window in his room and sip tea out of a chipped owl mug. On even rarer occasions when his brothers and sisters slept in, he would wander downstairs before work and scrape together bacon and cheese sandwiches, orange egg yolk dribbling down his sandwich, and pooling on his plate.

Most of the time, though, the Moon house came alive as soon as the sun and all nine siblings were up all at once, shrieking and fighting with one another over who would use the only two bathrooms in the house first.

There was no poetry in such disarray, but there was pain, and that was good enough for Soren.

A rubber ball goes flying into the cabinets over his head and the noise of the kitchen in chaos comes crashing back in all at once. His dad was attempting to fix breakfast this time but he was a terrible cook and had successfully set a pan of fried eggs on fire. "Oh, no!" The man shouts desperately, banging his spatula, "No! My blanquillos!"

"Think fast, asshole!"

Soren casually lifts his plate as another rubber ball comes flying towards him and hits the table; this time pitched across the table by his viperlike sibling, Rowan, who flashes his teeth like a shark when the ball knocks over a glass of orange juice and sloshes across the table.

"Ahh! Rowan!" Soren's little brother Asa shrieks and bolts upright, cold juice sliding down the front of his hippie overalls, covered in assorted patches that he'd made himself with a sewing machine. "This was my last pair of overalls!" 

"Not my problem, nerd!" Rowan squawks gleefully before Asa flings a slice of toast at his face.

"Rowan Sage! Asa Julian! No sirs! We don't throw things at the table!" Soren's mother shrieks from where she's feeding the smallest baby ever spoonfuls of something green and blobby looking. "Rowan, why don't you go feed the owls this morning instead, since you seem to have enough energy to play ball in the house."

"Aw! Ma!" Rowan complains.

Soren rolls his eyes and drops his plate, but as he does so, he notices a pamphlet stuck to the table with glitter glue advertising some kind of event or club at the high school. "Join Pittsfield High's Poetry Club today! It's never too late! Fun! Poetry!" On the front of the paper, a dark-haired boy stood in front of a microphone, reciting poetry, while a crowd looked on in wonder. 

It seemed almost as if Soren were looking into another universe. For almost his whole life, he'd been homeschooled with his siblings, which was fine. He'd learned more by reading his own books and studying things in the forest like red-capped mushrooms and colorful woodpeckers. But something had always been missing in his schooling, a sensation in his bones like an ache that needed to be fulfilled and had remained so.

"Barbaric, isn't it?" His emo brother Quince suddenly leans into view, a mop of dark hair obscuring his eyes and most of his face. "Who thought it was a good idea to rope a bunch of hormonal teenagers into a building and force them to sit down to learn mediocre drabble? High school is like the most atrocious establishment known to man."

"Sometimes I feel like a museum," Soren replies mysteriously, the words coming to his tongue on their own accord, "A huge, empty museum where no one ever goes. Watching over it for no one but myself. I'm hungry, Quince. Hungry for something that you can't understand."

Something crashes into the window before Quince can respond and Soren looks over in time to see an owl with crooked ear tufts and bright eyes hit the glass, then slide down as dramatically as possible. A second later, the door crashes open and Rocky explodes into the house, wearing a bright pink spandex that left little to the imagination.

"My darling familia! Mama! Papa! The spirit of my deceased Babushka!" The bright redhead cries, and everyone at the table turns to look at him in all his glittery glory. "I bring you the most excellent news! Disease broke out at the college when an infected chimp escaped its cage and mauled several teachers, so it's currently under quarantine! As a result, I'll be home for the next several weeks! Isn't that amazing?"

"Welp," Rowan sighs and crosses his arms before leaning back in his chair. "Who's ready for CATS the Musical blasting at three in the morning from now on?"

Quince makes a cut-throat motion and hangs his head to one side.

It was, in fact, not amazing. 

By some hand of fate, Rocky had gotten a scholarship and gone to college, leaving his owl family behind. Suddenly, all the pictures on his social media were replaced with strangers, partying with Rocky and having the time of their lives. Every day, pictures of Rocky drinking coffee in cafes appeared, the young man looking worn out after a night of partying. He seemed happy despite this. Rocky was always excited about something.

But they didn't know what Soren knew.