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In dreams they said you can be and do anything you want. It's in dreams where your fantasies become reality and everything is perfect. Unfortunately, that isn't always the case.
Especially for Clint.
Clint dreams of experiences that weren't nightmares but instead reality. He dreams of his past. Of his father, Trickshot, and even Barney. He dreams of torture and ridicules and beatings and everything and anything in between.
"Sleep, Birdie," his mama would tell him. "Be whatever you desire in your sleep. Always remember that your truest life is in dreams awake." Clint would smile at her and nod, because she knew best and she was always right. Even when she was wrong, she was still right.
So Clint dreamed. He saw visions of endless water, forest filled with animals, and the sun always shone bright. Even when it didn't shine, it still did in dreams.
He flew everywhere. Clint would look at his arms, almost always filled with bruises and scrapes, but he didn't see those. He'd see sleek brown feathers, healthy and full. And he'd know that when he grew up that's what he'd be. Because this was his truest dream in life asleep.
"Mama!" Clint'd say when he woke up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and ran to find his mother. But the little boy would find a strange woman, always, in his living room. She'd be bloodied and bruised, but she'd still smile at him. So he'd smile back because that was polite.
"Morning my Birdie," the woman would say… except…that's when Clint realized this strange woman was his mother and what he'd dreamed was just that. A silly dream.
"Where's daddy?" Clint said, looking around the room warily. "And Barney?"
"Don't worry about that, Birdie," his mama would say. "Let's tidy up a bit, yes?"
Clint wouldn't answer at first. He looked around at the bloodied floor and the broken bottles of beer and the holes in the wall. He'd study his mama again, once so pretty, now hurt and it was all daddy's fault. But then mama would say, "Please," and Clint could never say no to his mama. Because mama was always right even when she was wrong.
So they would clean the house spick and span as much as they could. Except Clint only cleaned up the blood and spilled beer because mama said she had to clean the glass. She said it wasn't right for a child to do that.
Neither was it right for a child to see what he'd seen, Clint would think but never say. His mama was doing all she could and that's more than enough. Mama would do her bit and he'd do his. Daddy would hit and scream and Barney would hide. But Clint and his mama would clean up their mess because that's the way it's always been.
"Mama," Clint said when they were done. "Can we go see the birds in the park?"
And then his mama would lick her split lip and respond, "Not today, Birdie. Why don't we sing a song instead? You have a lovely voice."
Clint also knew why she said no instead of yes. Because his mama's face was marred and swollen, and nobody but their family was allowed to see. Clint felt the anger expand within him. It was always daddy's fault. But then mama would say, "Please," and Clint could never say no to his mama. Because mama was always right even when she was wrong.
So they would sing cheery songs together. Clint would sing the melody because that's all he knew how to do, and his mama would harmonize. When they were done they'd grin at each other, happy and content, but that all too soon changed.
The door slammed open and daddy's drunken voice would yell, "Goddammit, Edith! You no good bitch, where's my fuckin' food?!"
Mama's pretty hazel eyes would widen, she'd shoo him off up the stairs and turn around. Clint knew what was coming and he heard it as he ran up the stairs. The resounding whack of his mama being hit. Again.
He'd climb into the closet and scramble inside his nook. He wrapped his small hands around his knees and silent tears would roll down his cheeks. Minutes later Barney's face appeared. He stared at Clint before growling to shut the fuck up and be a fuckin' man. Clint did, but only because Barney was sometimes right even when he was sometimes wrong.
Then Barney would nod sharply before scrambling to hide somewhere else. That's what happened in this house. Daddy would hit, Barney would hide, mama got hurt, and then he and mama would clean up.
Listening to the yells and screams, he buried his face into his arms and whisper to himself, "Your truest life is in dreams awake." Because that's what his mama told him. And his mama was always right even when she was wrong.
So Clint fell asleep. He dreamt that he was a bird and soaring away from his cage.