A Mantis's Delicate Obsession

Warmth.

there's a sound I can still recall. feathers and panic mixing into a sound of frantic drumming of feathers against the air as the chicken bolted across the unpathed road. I followed, barefoot, chasing it with a large knife in my hand. I think I shouted something - I can't quite imagine what my voice sounded like back then anymore. Perhaps soft, higher? one that belongs to a completely different person now

I think I was laughing or crying - maybe both, perhaps not speaking at all. I only remember the chicken was winning. I darted left, it went the other way. The next thing I can recall was tripping over a rock and planting into the dirt. My thoughts were whole, not torn and scattered. My legs had feet, not blades. But as I try to remember what they felt like now, the memory of that body feels wrong. It's like I'm trying to force myself into a body that no longer fits - heavy, clumsy, out of place.
he chicken I couldve sworn was mocking me, clucking as if it had won, and maybe it did, little fucker. Than I recall..a voice, saying

"You having a bit of trouble?"

I don't remember his name, I can't even picture his face clearly. His outline feels like a blur, gentle eyes I can't remember the color of, every time I try to remember it changes its color and shape or just completely fades, the only thing I remember clearly was the feeling, it was warm, like just walking into a warm estate after battling a winter storm.

He knelt down beside the chicken with a gentleness I hadn't seen before and the chicken flaps into his arms as if it were its home.

I remember staring at him like he was an angel sent from the heavens just to help me catch my and my fathers dinner, he hands it to me and I hold the little shit as if it were a gift from the gods. He says it in a voice that changes with each memory

"You can't chase it straight, or it'll always win."

I nodded, taking the advice as if it were the secret to the universe...I felt warmth, Like the sun peaking through the clouds after a rainy day, I could tell he wasn't a traveller, I can't seem to place why I thought that. He says something else, but all I can piece together is a bundle of words. He helped me tie the chicken properly, I remember inviting him to dinner. As a thanks, he accepted, I think I liked him...

The memory faded before I could see his face again, it feels like a dream now. A soft warm dream slipping through the cracks of my memories. Memories that don't feel like mine anymore...but it is still the first and farthest memory I can recall.

A runaway chicken.
A kind and gentle stranger.
A warmth I can't get again.