dawn’s early light

Photo by Adrianna Calvo on Pexels.com

Dawn approaches. I can see it in the peripheral. It’s there, just out of sight. But I know it’s there nonetheless.

I scribble my words down on a scrap of paper. I know that the dawn brings with it the stink of death. I can smell it there. Lurking on the other side of daylight. Just waiting for me to peek out from behind these curtains.

The stench of him crawls up my nose and takes up residency there. I feel my skin crawl and wonder if he’s whispered my name yet.

I know it’s coming. The dawn. The death. My death. It’s a fantastic death. I’ve seen it in visions my entire life. I’ve always known it would end in this moment on this day.

I knew I would never reach twenty one. People like me. Clairvoyants or whatever they call us these days. We just know things. They can’t explain it to us. We can’t explain it to them.

I’ve lived a good life. Well, as good as anyone can in twenty odd years.

The sun ticks another notch into the sky. It’s starting to just take the edge off of the darkness. Death lurks outside my door. I can hear him now. Panting and snarling. He’s got a taste for me now. He won’t stop until he’s had his fill.

He takes a deep breath in and I know he’s smelling me. Sniffing the air for delicious morsels like one might do when there’s fresh bread baking in the oven.

A shiver travels down my spine. I feel my body quake. I check the locks again. I know I’m powerless to stop this. I’ve seen it far too many times to think I can save myself.

Still, I stayed awake the night. I barricaded the doors and locked down all the windows tight. I see the orange glow beginning just the other side of my window blinds.

I begin to pray. I pray to not one god but many gods. I plead for any single one of them to step in. I swear loyalty if they’ll just spare my life from this impending death.

The door rattles. The pounding comes next.

Rattle. Pound. Rattle. Pound.

I hear my name. It has chosen my mother’s voice.

Rattle. Pound. Pound. Rattle.

Mom calls my name again.

The smell of bacon wafts in from the hallway. It’s fitting that Mom’s cooking bacon for my final day.

“It’s a school day,” Mom shouts from the other side of my bedroom door. The sun rises higher.

“I’m not going!” I shout as I pull the blanket over my head. “I’m going back to sleep.”

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