Chirp.
The first sound I heard—chirp. Caught it midway, mid-tune, like my ears had only just started learning how to hear. Sweet, sultry smooth chirping from a songstress perched on a branch nearby.
Some kind of morning melody from some kind of swallow-mockingjay birdie or another that made its life aspiration to make alarm clocks redundant, I guess. And I was just there—all nice and comfy with a pillow on my head, unconsciously conscious, my mind flicked onto autopilot.
That's when it all came crashing down on me, in that next second, that autopilot disengaging on me without my input.
Like a proverbial hundred feet tsunami crashing down to kingdom come—memories. I remembered seeing them, dreaming them, feeling them, living them. That Birdie Ellish outside chirped again… and I swallowed the teeming flood in a big, heavy gulp of air.
"Oh, fuck me…" was all I managed to whimper to summarize my entire predicament.
