This week marks the seventh entry in Coast Weekend’s fiction writing series. To participate, send in a short story, no longer than 250 words, to firstname.lastname@example.org. Entries can be continuations of published prompts or new works of fiction. Here is “Dawn” by Rosemary Andrews, of Ilwaco, Washington.
There is a tranquil silence in the grayness outside my window, a foreboding of some change about to take place. Forms and shapes that just moments before were hidden in the depth of blackness are now becoming vague outlines. In indiscernible increments, the grayness is slowly fading away.
I gaze through the window and can now recognize a cluster of evergreens, rough-skinned pine cones clinging to the branches, which just moments before had been an unremarkable mass of darkness. Objects that had been completely hidden before the darkness turned into dawn can now be easily identified. The maple tree is splashed with dabs of oranges, yellows and withering red leaves. A crack in the sidewalk looks as if the stark slash through the cement still hoards some of the earlier darkness.
As the day progresses, I take the sunlight for granted. I am not even aware that the process at the beginning of the day is now reversing itself. By rote, I flip on switches that illuminate my house in a bath of artificial light, oblivious to the struggle going on outside my window. The distinctness of the surrounding landscape is being swallowed up in intertwining hues of darkness and light. Gradually, the darkness envelopes the light and sinks deeper and deeper into itself until suddenly it is black. Very stealthily, night has taken charge. Another day has come and gone.