Bird of Paradise • taekook

Three

The cliffs on both sides of him are made of muddy orange and dark brown Navajo sandstones, a thousand feet straight into the azure sky.

The Virgin River flows under his feet, icy snow-melt that soaks above his worn out hiking boots.

A dark silhouette walks in front of him, back hunched, metallic trekking pole digging into the river rocks with each step, the dull clanking sound echoing on his mind.

His frozen toes are all but a numbing afterthought, as the shadows of the looming cliffs overwhelm his mind, reminding him of how weak and insignificant he is.

The sky is a narrow ribbon of impossible blue above him, alluring and distance. Can the birds even reach this high? Can the wings of any earthy creature break through and soar above the shadows?

He blinks to rid of the dizziness and drags his thoughts back to the ground. His feet slip on bedrocks, the puffs of his shallow breaths turn to shaky white vapour, but he keeps following the figure ahead, determined not to lose purpose.

Clank. Clank.

Endless layers of stones in shades of maroon and grey, silent for a million years and millions more. The thought steals his tongue and dries his throat.

He wiggles his toes, and wills for the rhythmic motion to sooth his mind, one step at a time. Follow and trudge through, soon they will be out of the dark canyon, onto something else. Soon, they've got to be.

But the wind blows suddenly, ruffling up everything in the world. The shrubs vibrate, and birds gawk in the far distance, low urgent sounds blending into the whispering air, morphing into reverberating shrills that refuse to fade away.

The chilling water sloshes around his calves. The figure in front turns around, and he spots the glint of panic in his dad's eyes.

He opens his mouth but can't hear his own words. Instead, there's a shadow on the cliff walls in front of them, growing, rising, as the air crackles in dreaded tension, and a low rumble prickles his skin with goosebumps.

The stream sloshes and clashes violently, and the water level begins to rise underneath, coming alive to the rumble. When he finally sees the muddy waves of flood crashing and making its way down the narrow canyon bed ahead of them, it's already too late.

His tiny hand reaches toward dad's stiff back absently, and his eyes screw shut, not having the courage to face the inevitable.

A violent twitch. Taehyung's eyes snap open suddenly from the nightmare, as he pants and gasps for air. He blinks desperately to make sense of the surroundings - it's a dream; he repeats over and over inwardly, trying to calm the thundering heartbeat. It's a dream. But where is he now? The darkened room reminds him of the dozens of transient places before this, all cloaked in unfamiliarity and detachment.

He rubs his face, and stumbles towards the small window in front of him, pulling open the curtain forcefully. The moonlit beach outside is empty and silent, as Taehyung collapses back onto the bed in a daze, half trapped in the murky undertow of the dream.

The single bed, the worn out wooden table, his backpack half open on the floor haphazardly. He lets out a small sigh as recognition seeps back slowly.

Halaina. Right...

He listens to the shallow panting of his own breath, and wills for his thoughts to focus. This always happens when he ignores what worries him, pretends it doesn't exist. The nightmares are just his brain's way of making him deal with the unavoidable.

Fuck.

Taehyung sits on the bed for a while, allowing his body to calm down. Finally, a half grumble pushes out of the back of his throat, and he steps towards the small table.