A bird, a little bigger than the average pigeon, maybe the size of a turkey. Flapping its wings and enjoying the rush of the wind and the silence it grants. Up there nothing is heard, no sound can penetrate the blow of the gales. There is a certain destination and it is far away, days ahead. A single two-lane road, going snake-like through some fields and then a majestic forest, tall trees poking through the mass of green and the heavy smell of pines. A curve on the road up ahead but the bird does not follow it, it flaps its wings and continues onward over the forest, beady eyes focused on the summits and gorges of the mountain upfront.
An ocean replaces the gorgeous forest. Nothing behind, nor ahead; just water. Then a truck comes out of nowhere, the kind with the large grill at the front of the cabin and tall metal exhaust pipes over it. The bird is small and glides low so from its point of view the truck is towering over it and splashing water everywhere. Fear and desperation drive its tiny heart into overload.
It all ends as abruptly as it began and now the bird is over China and its rice plantations. The shortcut over a village was a bad idea but it’s too late for regret. The elder Chinese man looks smugly at his net and the turkey inside and brings the catch inside to his wife. After a discussion with her they decide to make a hole in the wall and let the bird continue its journey.
And with that, he woke up. Immediately he sat up, breathing heavily, thinking about this weird dream he just had. His own heart was beating as hard as the bird’s heart as if they were the same thing, soaring over beautiful land. And China.
“How did China get involved?” It was too early in the morning, outside the colour grey was overwhelming, but somehow he wasn’t tired, he couldn’t go back to sleep.
He kept thinking about the bird, flying freely, then getting captured. The captivity being too short or maybe the people catching him ..or maybe the fact he somehow knew it was a dream – one of those was definitely a reason for him not to be afraid. Of anything right now. Not his day ahead, not last night’s events. He just wanted to soar like the bird in his dream.
“Maybe not over China” he thought.
And why there he wondered. He’d never been there to know it if he ever saw the scenery. “But that’s how dreams work” he shrugged.
Getting up slowly he went for his morning coffee, realizing he couldn’t go back to sleep even if he had to. His heart felt tight in his chest and at the same time he felt as if he was still the bird, about to break free from his apartment. Sadly, he lived on the 10th floor and he would just break, if he went out the window.
One part of his mind stayed on the topic – going through his own mental archives, pondering if anyone ever survived from jumping or falling from the 10th storey, while at the back of his mind he tried to hold on to the memory of the bird. Soaring high.
Few minutes later he realized he was cupping an empty coffee jar, still engulfed in heavy thoughts. He decided he would push them away for a little longer, going for a new pack of coffee to fill the jar.
“How is this happening only in days like this” he exclaimed, realizing there wasn’t any coffee left at all.