You are trying to find your way back to you home, knowing it won’t be possible. You’re already shivering. Your head is hurting. You feel sick. You lost your bike, boo hoo. It seems to me your death is your fault.

Or is it?

You certainly know why you ran. You know they’d end up throwing you out. You know they would. So, why should you worry that it’s your fault you’re out here, walking in the wilderness with no one with you?

He’s looking for you. You know he must be. He’s your friend and obviously wanted you to try get the love your father didn’t give you. That’s why you love him. Though, you’re sure he’d just decline your love for him. You can’t blame him.

He’s married.

You sniffle. You know he would be looking for you, but not because he loves you the way you love him. He’s looking for you because he’s worried about you.

You haven’t told him yet. And you feel bad for being a coward for opening up to him.

Then again, you think he’s slightly homophobic. You saw how he reacted to the news a few weeks ago when he heard that gay marriage was now legal. Though, he might have been delighted. That badger was always confusing.

You sigh and stop walking, letting the rain and thunder roll over your feathers and clothes. Maybe it would be best to just give up now. He’d never love a slightly pudgy mud swallow. Your family might not be affected by the news. He would though. The badger always complimented you when he got the chance.

A sudden thought then crosses your mind. Maybe he does love you. Though, more like a father loves a son. He always tried to be nice to you when no one was around. Which was nearly 50% of the time. As far as you’re concerned, he may have tried to pull ‘the move’ on you.

You remember about three months ago when Mom and Dad were out on a date, Jenny was out with her friends and his wife was away on a business trip. You remember Dad saying, “He might let someone into the house. He keeps looking at his computer screen.”

About fifteen minutes later, he manages to persuade you to take a break from your beloved computer and down to the kitchen for some sandwiches, some pop and a horror movie. He knows you love scaring yourself.

Unintentionally, you press into him on an intense scene, where Girl #2 was doing some gymnastics and there was a nail that she could step on any moment; the constant switching of cameras between a gymnastic routine, Girl #2 and the nail certainly made it more dramatic. You remember his arm wrapping around your shoulder and hugging you.

“You’re that scared?” he whispers in a low tone, squeezing you. You pull away instantly, blushing.

“NO!”

He snorts and shakes his head.

“I can hold ya if ya want,” he whispers.

You remember shaking your head, saying you weren’t scared. You just didn’t want him getting in trouble. You didn’t want him to be taken away and be labeled a ‘sex offender’ for the rest of his life.

You decide to slump down and rest your back against a tree, even if it lets your head hurt a lot from the vibrations that travelled through your bones. You then start wondering why you didn’t accept his offer.

Another memory hits you like a lightning bolt.

You were doing your homework, minding your own business and listening to music. Then you hear your mom call you down to dinner. So, you take off your head phones and sigh. Dinner was always the worst part of the day. Both Mom and Dad expected you to be open with them. They force you tell you things you’d rather keep to yourself.

You go down anyways, putting on a practiced smile and start running through the routine.

Until they ask you something.

“Who do you like?”

Your beat is pauses, stumbles and dies upon those simple words. Time seemed to have stopped and the air became heavy and thick. Like you can cut it with a knife any moment now.

So to speak.

You remember lying to them it was that rabbit girl, Trisha, after a small and quick argument.

You cringe at the memory, which left a bad taste in your beak. It seemed to you that your brain was playing crucial moments in your life to ease the pain. It seems to be working.

So, you close your eyes and start to imagine that badger was here now. You can just picture those big arms oh his wrapping around you and whispering comforting things to you. You can imagine him petting you, trying to ‘comfort’ you… You can imagine his rugged accent saying he’d protect you…

Most of all, you can imagine him here, with you now and holding you. Trying to get you warm, petting you and holding you. His arms holding you close against his chest, making sure you were safe.

You punch the ground half-heartedly. Why did you run away? Because you were emotionally unstable? The doctor did say you were. Your parents tried to give you the attention, but failed at seeing what ‘loving’ means. It’s not based on materialistic things. Of course it shows you go through the trouble of buying you something, but hugs and kisses are better.

You look up at the sky, starting to wish you hadn’t yelled at your parents while he was around with his wife. You wish you hadn’t run away from home and wind up here where nothing was; just memories, sorrow, guilt and worst of all, being alone.

Maybe you should just give up. By the time they find you, you’d be close to dying. You’d hurt him and his wife. All because you were chronically depressed and emotionally unstable... and because you loved a guy when you lived in a strictly religious family. And lived in a small town. In the middle of nowhere.

“Daryll! Daryll! Where are you?!”

You just open your eyes and look around, wondering if it’s just your imagination. You can hear him, but you can’t see him.

“Daryll!”

His voice seems closer now. Should you call out? Yes. You are already crazy. The other kids at school were right: you are just a pudgy swallow with no friends.

“Patrick…”

Your voice is hoarse and your throat hurts. You’re soaked thoroughly and it’s been… well, a long time since dinner. You decided to just use whatever strength you have left for one last shout…

“PATRICK!”

Your throat starts stinging and your head is pounding now. It seems to you that you are just sick. Very sick. You feel a bit nauseous and you start crying, the tears burning your eyes.

“Daryll! I heard ya! Where are you!”

You smile at the fact that Patrick is really worried about you. Your dad might be at home, saying it’s too cold out.

“Patrick…”

You manage to turn your head sideways, ignoring the pain coursing through your body. You squint and almost cry out as a light hits your eyes.

“Daryll! There ya are!”

You hear the badger running towards you. The noise hurts your ears.

You then feel hands gently touch your shoulder. You twitch.

“Daryll…”

Then you feel the warmth of the badger surround you, his arms squeezing you lightly and holds you ever so closely to him, trying to share warmth with you.

“I was so worried about you…”

The voice, that beautifully rugged voice, hurts your head.

Yet, you can feel his maw just inches from your beak. Maybe this is best fantasy you’d ever have of him. You’re dying anyways. The brain always sends out chemicals to make you dream when you’re dying. This could be one.

Then his lips touches yours and that’s enough to take you out of your reverie. You simply just lay there, not doing anything because your body just feels too heavy and your head is pounding like crazy.

His muzzle moves away from yours.

“Let’s get ya back to the house…”

He then scoops you up slowly, holding you like a groom does to his bride. He holds you closely, like you were his one and only son. He then starts to whisper comforting things to you. One thing made all the other voiced comforts null:

“I love ya like a father loves a son… kiddo.”

You simply bury your head in the crook of his neck, loving the sound of his heartbeat. You close your eyes and you drift off to sleep, listening to that comforting voice…

This has got to be the best dream ever,’ is your final thought before everything completely goes black.