The Wings Of A Caged Bird | First Draft

chapter 14 : lies and dreams

I'm starting to miss visiting Dawn.

I stare at the fire July is slowly building up, but my thoughts are miles away. It's been almost a week since the last time I got to meet him. I've been trying to avoid thinking about it, like many other things I avoid thinking about these days. But when you have too much free time, all the thoughts from the backroom of your mind drives up to the front. There's no stopping it.

I feel a light nudge at my arm. I turn my head to the side, and find July holding out an open packet of chips. The last one from the bunch Edgar gave. Even after hours of walking, we couldn't find any way out today. Luckily, we decided to use a stick to line our path from the waterfall to wherever we walked to, so we could make our way back here. But if we don't make it out by tomorrow, who knows what I will have to eat?

Moreover, ever since our conversation in the morning, July has been a little down. He hasn't made a single silly joke since then, nor has he made any conversation unless absolutely necessary. I can tell he's not mad at me or anything, he's just . . . sad. I'm suddenly starting to be afraid if he somehow read my mind during that conversation. But these days I'm seeing him sad too often, so I can't really tell.

I take the packet from his hand. Then I tell him, "I miss Dawn."

I surprise myself by saying it in a more honest way out loud than what I said in my head. In truth, what I miss is more than just visiting Dawn. Why do we lie to ourselves, in our own thoughts, despite knowing no one else will hear it? Why can't we expose our own difficult truths to our own self? Is it because we're afraid of what unexpected truth we might end up discovering, or is it because we don't have that minimum amount of trust in us that is within us?

They say lying to others is the most major sin. Then what about lying to yourself? Why isn't that a sin? Why is it, instead, a mere flaw everyone has to suffer for?

July doesn't reply. He simply moves to sit closer to me. A silent gesture of support. It's more than enough.

As the two of us sit in front of the fire, staring at it in silence, the world around us turns strangely serene. The sound of the waterfall is distant, a music from a faraway land. The unstable flames jump up and down as if reaching for the sky and failing, then sway left and right as if dancing away the bitter taste of defeat.

I finish eating the chips, and put the empty packet into my bag.

"Was that enough?" he asks, referring to the chips.

"I guess." I wouldn't say it's enough to fill me up, but it's enough to get me going.

"Tomorrow, we should try to find real food."

"Okay." With that, I was about to fold up my knees to sit more comfortably, but he grabs the kneecap on his side and pushes it back down. "What are you—" I stop midway as he proceeds to put his head on my thigh and comfortably lie down.

A part of me immediately gets the urge to push him away, but another part stops it from doing so, fearing the hurt it might cause him. He's already down, I can't make it worse. Besides, this means nothing. He probably just wants to rest a bit. This means nothing at all.

Why do we lie to ourselves? Is it because we are afraid of what we might discover with just a little bit of honesty? Do we only lie when we know the discovery will undoubtedly throw us into a paper shredder, turning us into mere meaningless pieces of a vain existence? If so, then how far are we willing to go just to protect ourselves?

How far am I willing to go to protect myself?

I shake my head to push away these thoughts. It's too much to deal with at once. Instead, I focus on what's right here.