The Island Flamingo: Chapter 9
The Island Flamingo
My childhood memories end abruptly when the setting sun catches my eye. My escort and I decide to return to our hotel room and go to bed for the night. We fall asleep the instant our bodies lay in the soft beds. Once again, I find myself dreaming.
I’m naked and floating in a large body of water on a small life preserver ring. It’s then that I notice my skin, the life preserver ring, the water, and even the sky and moon are a bright shade of pink. I feel like I am inside a piece of pink bubblegum. I try covering my nude body the best I can because even though no one is around to see me, I can still hear voices. The voices sound like those from familiar people in the past. My mother’s low tone, my father’s voice cutting through his clenching teeth, my brother’s dull monotone voice. The apathetic voice of the social worker, the confident tone of the inspiring journalist, the blind optimistic voice of my boss, and the surprisingly sweet voice of the escort. Even with these voices I hear the droning of thousands of voices I remember being the unfortunate listener to when interviewing them. The crazies, the pessimists, the optimists, the stubborn, the overreacting, and too many other voices to count.
I shut my eyes and cover my ears to block out the painful voices, but they continue to grow. I open my mouth to scream, but all that comes out is a large clear bubble—the only object that isn’t pink. The bubble floats towards the moon and shines. I cover my eyes and hear a swirling noise around me. I open my eyes and see the bubble is the only pink object remaining. The voices are gone as well.
The pink bubble lands on the water and morphs into the familiar flamingo. It moves towards me and nuzzles its beak into my lap. Its voice is feminine and speaks softly.
“Tamara, there’s an island to the west. If you want to explore, come and find me in the morning. Bring yourself and no one else.”
With knowing this is a dream, I have no problem with the flamingo talking. It flaps its wings and flies off towards the moon.
The pinging of my clock awakens me from my slumber. The snoring of my escort signifies that she’s still asleep. I stretch my body and wipe my eyes in time to see a shade of pink jumping from my window.
