Paradise: Birds Fly at Sunrise

Chapter One: Sunrise

CHAPTER ONE: Sunrise

The sun tastes like warm. It feels blinding but beautiful against my skin; the breeze sounds fresh, like new rain on the earth and is scented with cool. I see the rush of the wind wave over the town, the birds that seem to both lead the current and ride on its drift soar low over Réale, and the trees bow after them. I watch them fly away with the wind until I can no longer see them.

The morning is serene but for the twitch at the back of my mind that wonders when the rain will fall again. Will it hold off for a few more hours? I can easily fall asleep here, but I don’t want the rain to wake me. On the other hand, where the required energy and will power for movement will come from, I have no idea...

I stare down at the sleeping town and smile at the familiar view that I associate with the word home. Just the sight of this place from the perspective that I’ve so often seen it makes me feel warm. From three stories high and up on a hill, my home town is magnificent.

Protected by a wall of lush green hills, the little houses form a maze of cobbled streets, all of which are wonderfully crooked; you’d never find a frivolously straight or perfectly paved road in Réale. I rest my head on the bean bag and stare out until my eyes close themselves...

I wake with a start and a gasp as a speck of rain lands on my cheek. I check the time on the alarm clock I’ve brought out with me – 7:36. Nine minutes before I officially have to get up. The rain droplet has been a one off, but the clouds are dark; the heavens could open at any second. Still, I curl up, reluctant to move for a minute or two, until a cascade of rain pours down and soaks me in seconds.

I throw my alarm clock inside the first, – it’s electric and I’ve already broken three this year – followed by my duvet and bean bag, before hauling myself through the window. I stand up and wave the duvet out over my bed to dry out properly before I go back to bed tonight, then dump the bean bag back in its corner. I pull the window shut and stare out at my balcony, where the rain now bounces merrily and turns every spot of stone paving several tones darker. Well, that’s one way wake up...

Almost every day for the past six years or so, I’ve woken up in the early hours of the morning to watch the sun rise from the balcony outside my bedroom. It started back when sleep became impossible and the balcony was the closest place to heaven, but now it’s more routine, like a morning prayer, saying hello to the world above mine. I love it all; the sky growing lighter, the sun’s rays reflecting off the houses and shining off the windows, the four birds that fly along with the breeze and the shimmer of light that sweeps across the town.

My hair is dripping onto the carpet and drops trickle down my back, making me shiver. I step into my en-suite bathroom, peel my pyjamas off and take a shower. I doodle in the condensation on the mirror as I brush my teeth, bundled up in lilac cotton towels, trying to draw a perfect circle. Steam follows me out of the door, carrying the fragrance of lavender into my bedroom.

I dry off and slip my dressing gown on, then sit down on the little padded bench in front of the dressing table. It is a beautiful vanity, creamy-white wood with delicate carved flowers on the drawers and around the frame of the mirror. The bench’s legs match the vanity and the cushion is a pastel lilac. The creamy wood looks pretty with the room, but only the cushion really matches.