“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Sap.”
Thrush stared at Sap’s back pointedly. Sap sat on the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the sudden drop. Feeling Thrush’s eyes on him, Sap shifted around uncomfortably, looking down past his feet. The turquoise waters down below shimmered and sparkled as the gentle breeze dipped to skim the surface. Sap leaned back and propped himself up on his left arm as his right hand groped around in the dirt.
“Yeah? And why not?”
His eyes fixed on the sea, Sap closed his fingers around a jagged stone. He briefly inspected it before leaning forward and dropping it from between his knees. They both listened as the stone cut through the air, whistling faintly for some seconds before there was a soft plunk. Sap turned his head over his shoulder to shoot a stubborn look at Thrush. The wind pushed his crimson-streaked hair out and away from his face, and he looked all the more like some defiant lion cub. Thrush closed his eyes and sighed before looking back out at the sea.
“Because it’s not a very good way to get people to like you.”
Sap snorted and turned back around.
“You telling me I can’t be me? If I’m not allowed to say what I think and how I feel, we’re no better than machines. I’m not going to lie, especially to myself.”
From his perch further up, Thrush watched Sap grab another rock, this time chucking it as hard as he could from his sitting position. They watched the rock become a black dot against a spectacular blue backdrop, shrinking until it vanished entirely from sight.
Thrush ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the soft-brown locks that spilled over onto his face.
“I’m not saying you should be dishonest, Sap, it’s just that people like being heard. They like being understood. If you’d put a little more effort into listening before you begin ranting, maybe you’d learn to like people, too.”
Thrush swung lightly to and fro before pushing himself off the groaning branch and landing next to Sap with a thud. Sap tried to scoff in an attempt to hide his surprise but let out something between a squeak and a cough. Thrush grinned as he crouched there and watched his friend go into a fleeting coughing fit. When Sap recovered he didn’t respond, instead fixing his gaze back out where the pale sky met the rippling sea. Thrush followed suit, wondering where his friend’s eyes were looking, and where his friend’s mind was going.
They stayed like that for a while in silence, watching the softly tumbling waves roll in and out, in and out. Mother Nature conducted her primitive orchestra, the trees swaying to her baton. Birds chirped and sang, water met earth in a calm crash and soft splash, and the wind rustled the leaves and reeds like a set of verdant chimes. When Thrush felt the sun begin to burn the back of his neck, he stood up and took off his belt, offering the buckled end to Sap. Sap grunted disinterestedly.
“Do something for me, Sap. Just hold this, as tightly as you can, and don’t let go.”
Sap eyed the offering suspiciously but grunted again and slipped a couple of fingers through the buckle loop.
“Are you really holding it tightly?”
Thrush gave it a loose tug. The buckle remained firm in Sap’s grip. Sap grunted a third time. Thrush couldn’t resist a final jab.
“Didn’t know your grip was so weak.”
Sap reflexively tightened his grip, his mind racing for a comeback. As he turned to glare at Thrush, Sap saw him jump off the cliff, gripping his own end of the belt. Time began crawling and Sap’s retort stuck in his throat as he felt himself lurching forward. His bottom lifted up and off the ledge, and in true bothersome fashion, time raced forward to catch up. Helpless, Sap flailed his arms and legs wildly. Thrush had already plunged into the turquoise waters and come back up. He grinned again as he watched his feisty friend fall, a look of horror disfiguring Sap’s features and his body flapping about as if he was trying to swim through the air. Sap’s mouth was open during his rapid descent and Thrush caught the beginning of what he supposed Sap had directed toward him.
“FUUUUUUUU---“
Sap’s back hit the water first with a loud, wet slap and whatever he was saying was abruptly cut short. Thrush winced at the sound, though he couldn’t stop smiling. Sap floated up slowly, breaking the surface the same way he had so rudely gone in. He was uncharacteristically quiet, and Thrush watched Sap’s eyes fix back on the sea. Actually, beyond the sea, to the horizon. Thrush felt his gaze drawn to the horizon and let his mind wander. He wondered at how sea met sky, and that line extended for miles, that it was so far away the line began to bend like a sloppy, wet ellipse. When they had been up on the cliff, their view had been obstructed by the promontories that curved to make the small bay they had jumped into. There was something beautiful and different about looking at the horizon broaden and stretch and stretch so uninhibited, from a simple change in perspective. They remained silent, in a staring contest with the edge of the world, and floated like that for a while.
Thrush stared at Sap’s back pointedly. Sap sat on the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the sudden drop. Feeling Thrush’s eyes on him, Sap shifted around uncomfortably, looking down past his feet. The turquoise waters down below shimmered and sparkled as the gentle breeze dipped to skim the surface. Sap leaned back and propped himself up on his left arm as his right hand groped around in the dirt.
“Yeah? And why not?”
His eyes fixed on the sea, Sap closed his fingers around a jagged stone. He briefly inspected it before leaning forward and dropping it from between his knees. They both listened as the stone cut through the air, whistling faintly for some seconds before there was a soft plunk. Sap turned his head over his shoulder to shoot a stubborn look at Thrush. The wind pushed his crimson-streaked hair out and away from his face, and he looked all the more like some defiant lion cub. Thrush closed his eyes and sighed before looking back out at the sea.
“Because it’s not a very good way to get people to like you.”
Sap snorted and turned back around.
“You telling me I can’t be me? If I’m not allowed to say what I think and how I feel, we’re no better than machines. I’m not going to lie, especially to myself.”
From his perch further up, Thrush watched Sap grab another rock, this time chucking it as hard as he could from his sitting position. They watched the rock become a black dot against a spectacular blue backdrop, shrinking until it vanished entirely from sight.
Thrush ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the soft-brown locks that spilled over onto his face.
“I’m not saying you should be dishonest, Sap, it’s just that people like being heard. They like being understood. If you’d put a little more effort into listening before you begin ranting, maybe you’d learn to like people, too.”
Thrush swung lightly to and fro before pushing himself off the groaning branch and landing next to Sap with a thud. Sap tried to scoff in an attempt to hide his surprise but let out something between a squeak and a cough. Thrush grinned as he crouched there and watched his friend go into a fleeting coughing fit. When Sap recovered he didn’t respond, instead fixing his gaze back out where the pale sky met the rippling sea. Thrush followed suit, wondering where his friend’s eyes were looking, and where his friend’s mind was going.
They stayed like that for a while in silence, watching the softly tumbling waves roll in and out, in and out. Mother Nature conducted her primitive orchestra, the trees swaying to her baton. Birds chirped and sang, water met earth in a calm crash and soft splash, and the wind rustled the leaves and reeds like a set of verdant chimes. When Thrush felt the sun begin to burn the back of his neck, he stood up and took off his belt, offering the buckled end to Sap. Sap grunted disinterestedly.
“Do something for me, Sap. Just hold this, as tightly as you can, and don’t let go.”
Sap eyed the offering suspiciously but grunted again and slipped a couple of fingers through the buckle loop.
“Are you really holding it tightly?”
Thrush gave it a loose tug. The buckle remained firm in Sap’s grip. Sap grunted a third time. Thrush couldn’t resist a final jab.
“Didn’t know your grip was so weak.”
Sap reflexively tightened his grip, his mind racing for a comeback. As he turned to glare at Thrush, Sap saw him jump off the cliff, gripping his own end of the belt. Time began crawling and Sap’s retort stuck in his throat as he felt himself lurching forward. His bottom lifted up and off the ledge, and in true bothersome fashion, time raced forward to catch up. Helpless, Sap flailed his arms and legs wildly. Thrush had already plunged into the turquoise waters and come back up. He grinned again as he watched his feisty friend fall, a look of horror disfiguring Sap’s features and his body flapping about as if he was trying to swim through the air. Sap’s mouth was open during his rapid descent and Thrush caught the beginning of what he supposed Sap had directed toward him.
“FUUUUUUUU---“
Sap’s back hit the water first with a loud, wet slap and whatever he was saying was abruptly cut short. Thrush winced at the sound, though he couldn’t stop smiling. Sap floated up slowly, breaking the surface the same way he had so rudely gone in. He was uncharacteristically quiet, and Thrush watched Sap’s eyes fix back on the sea. Actually, beyond the sea, to the horizon. Thrush felt his gaze drawn to the horizon and let his mind wander. He wondered at how sea met sky, and that line extended for miles, that it was so far away the line began to bend like a sloppy, wet ellipse. When they had been up on the cliff, their view had been obstructed by the promontories that curved to make the small bay they had jumped into. There was something beautiful and different about looking at the horizon broaden and stretch and stretch so uninhibited, from a simple change in perspective. They remained silent, in a staring contest with the edge of the world, and floated like that for a while.
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