To Fly
Summary: "Why doesn't he come out? When you opened the door, how did you know he wouldn't escape?" Bryan glanced around the gloomy abbey grounds. He turned to stare into innocent crimson, and shrugged. "Dunno, caged birds don't come out. They never try."
Bryan and Kai's abbey days.
To Fly
06:20. The resounding thud of the abbey gates closing always sent a pang through my heart. It was almost like closing the door to a cage. However elaborately it was furnished, however amply supplied, the ache of being locked in constantly throbbed. "School" commenced. Boris swept coldly in.
06:30. Assembly. Big hall, high ceiling, and a large wooden cross. Lots of people standing in neat, clean rows. Guards at the end. I never figured out the purpose of the wood. Boris gave speech. It was mandatory. We listened. It was mandatory too. "... iovolt... …be the strongest amongst all who stands here…" and we were not to talk, no, not without permission. Not a sound. Heads forward.
I couldn't help but notice the tiny sparrow hopping nimbly on the floor tiles just outside the hall. It cocked its petite head as it paused at the small crack between the two almost closed iron doors. Chiirp. The soft note sang through the dreary drone. My lips twitched into a half-smile involuntarily. Chirrup. It crooned again, its song almost cherubic in its simplicity, softer and tenderer than any hymn. For a moment it tilted its head to the other side, almost as if contemplating whether to stay or not, before it hopped deftly out off into the morning sunshine and spread it russet wings, taking flight into the azure skies. My head drooped.
"Won't he get out?" Blue nibbled my fingertip which I've poked in through the slightly rusty bars. Blue was part of the flawless cover for the abbey. A sorry attempt to make the place look like a "warmer orphanage".
"Nah, don't worry. He won't." He carelessly clicked open the cleft, spooning the feed into a mini bowl with practiced ease. He clicked the door shut again. Blue hobbled over to inspect his foodstuff.
"Why, Bry?" I withdrew my finger, turning crimson eyes onto the lilac haired youth beside me.
"Why what?" He asked, zipping the bag of feed close.
"Why doesn't he come out? When you opened the door, how did you know he wouldn't escape?" I got to my feet, brushing off my knees as he mimicked my actions.
Bryan shrugged helplessly. "Dunno, caged birds don't come out. They never try."
I've always thought –knew it was a big, big world outside, beyond the high stone walls, beyond the iron spikes lining them, beyond the foreboding gates, beyond the elaborate cage. Birds are born with wings, wings to spread and fly. But sometimes wings are bound and feathers fall, sometimes we are pressed to the corner, pushed to the bars. Sometimes shoes are forced on and we futilely try to walk, try to run, like everyone does.
"Bry?"
"Hn?" He grunted nonchalantly.
"You know, I've been thinking about that bird outside our room just now?" I said absently.
"What for?" He frowned.
"Well, I think you're like it, the falcon," I stated.
He looked dumbstruck.
"No, no, not physically. I mean, you never give up, even when everything's spiraling downwards and the odds are stacked against you. You cut through them like a falcon does through the harsh air currents, proud and victorious." I paused.
"…and, I like you this way," I murmured.
"…You know, I think you're like a bird too," he muttered, turning away towards the window, his face a gentle silhouette again the waning sun.
"You know I can never fly like you do, Bry. You're the falcon; me? I'm at most a fledgling," I laughed idly.
He looked at me strangely. "No, don't say that. I think," he paused, and cleared his throat. "Or maybe yes. You're a…"
But what was I?
Were I a passerine I would have broken the dawn.
Were I a hummingbird I would have suckled the first drop of honey.
Were I a Rosella I would have twirled among the rosemary petals.
Were I a falcon I would have braved the skies.
Were I a peregrine I would have taken the heart-stopping plunge.
Were I a golden eagle I would have scraped the cliffs with my feather tips.
Were I a hawk I would have circled the mountains and taken on the world.
But I was not. Not a songbird, nor a bird of prey. Nothing. I was nothing more than a fledgling, huddled in the safety of the cage called school. Not even a step out into the tough, tough world, my wings were already tarnished, my feathers tattered, limp against restraints. Days went by. The cage opened and closed. I slumped helplessly against the bars and suddenly I knew. Knew that I could never take it to the skies.
For how is a tainted fledgling going to fly?
"…You're a phoenix. One that rises from the ashes. One that would plunge through the air and bring down the cliffs…"He tied the bandage securely around my bleeding shin, antiseptic fluids stinging the wound. "…and reign the mountains and take on the world." He blotted at my scraped knee, closely inspecting the torn skin. He tentatively reached out to stroke my bruised cheek, a whisper of a touch fleetingly feather-light. "One that would emerge victorious, no matter the odds." He smiled up into my tear streaked face, and continued gently, "Maybe you're a fledgling now, or even a hurt one at that, but I promise. Once you take the first step, to become the phoenix I know you are," his lips brushed tentatively against my dampened bangs.
Sirens rang. Screams erupted and people scattered. The smell of smoke and sweat was enticing –the world cascaded into glowing flames as we laughed and we ran and ran, hands intertwined and escaping –flying into the cool canopy of stars.
"Why doesn't he come out? When you opened the door, how did you know he wouldn't escape?"
"Dunno, caged birds don't come out. They never try."
I glanced at him and grinned. "Well, I guess we'll just have to break the tradition then."
He smirked.
AN: Read and review?