(June '16) Prompt #3- "It's 5 o'clock somewhere" [Archive]

m139

06-28-2016, 03:50 AM

It's five o'clock somewhere.

It's always five o'clock somewhere, even if the people who live under the revolving sun fail to notice it. Sure, there are those that count the hours, then the minutes, then the seconds until it reaches five, and then there are those on whom five springs upon and then they must rush out the door. There are others, too, who merely note that the time is five, and then continue their daily lives just as they might have if the time was four. Still others do not even count the time, and merely watch as the sun continues its decent it began some time ago.

But, what about the other five? Just as it is five o'clock in the evening somewhere, it is five o'clock in the morning somewhere. And where it is five o'clock in the morning right now, most people are sleeping. True, some workers are up, finishing off the night shifts. And there are those that are preparing for their own labors. There are even a few who have not slept at all this night, too busy engaging in frivolities meant for the day. And there are those who have not the time for sleep, having waited until this hour to do what needed to be done weeks ago. But our story concerns none of these. Rather, it concerns a young girl, who is just on the brink of sleep and awake...

Her window faced east, and her bed faced towards the window. Last night, she had been hot, and had opened said window, and the cool evening breeze had caressed her in her sleep. It also had caressed her desk- if caressing it could be called- and now there were scattered papers all across the floor.

The first beams of light had not yet crossed over the horizon, although the eastern sky was filled with a warm orange glow in anticipation. Whether it was this light, of the gust of wind that suddenly blew in the room that woke the girl, well, who really could tell? All that mattered was that her eyes fluttered open, and her consciousness gradually returned to her once sleeping form.

The outside change would have been quite simple for any observer to explain: her eyes fluttered open, she stared at the wall for a bit, then she turned onto her back, and sat up, stretching. But internally, well, internally, it was a bit more complicated.

The moment her eyes opened, she did not know where or what she was. She had not awakened this early for as long as she remembered. So when she opened her eyes to her room bathed in soft oranges and pinks, she seemed not to have awaken in her room at all, but rather in some sort of fairytale.

It was like this- she was dreaming, in a soft cocoon, enveloped in warmth, when suddenly, something beckoned her to come forth. She followed, and soon found that the light led out of a tunnel, into a place all at once strange and familiar. She blinked, staring at the ceiling, all at once so far and so near. Where? Why? Around her were shadows of things becoming.

Gradually, these things began to take shape, and as they did, some of the mystery began to disappear. Here was a nightstand, there a teddy bear. There was a book, and there a crayon. There the nightstand. And so she began to see these things, recognizing them for what they were. But were they really her things? In the magic that surrounded the early day, she could not tell herself. Nor did she really care much, for now, there was something else on her mind.

She sat up slowly, looking towards the window. The curtains fluttered, as if beckoning her to come closer. But, still in her dazed state, she did not respond right away but instead sat there, staring. It was only after some time that she finally moved, stretching her arms and yawning. Then, she slid off the bed, her bare feet hitting the hardwood floor softly next to a worn teddy bear that must have fallen some time that night. Then, she began to walk across the room, with such fluidity that one would have thought she was floating if it were not for the soft pitter patter accompanying the falls of her feet.

As she walked, her nightgown, light and dainty, fluttered gently in the breeze. The papers that had been blown off her desk the night before scuttled here are there across the room and around her, and though the girl never took her eyes off the window, she somehow managed to avoid these moving obstacles.

And then, she arrived at the window. It was a rather large window, and looked out into a rather large grassy yard. Further down, she could just make out the low stone wall silhouetted against the gradually brightening skyline. And beyond that, well, there was nothing else to see. But there was something there.

She could hear it: the same sound that had put her to sleep, and sung to her while she slept, still continued on even as the night ended and the day begin. The crickets and from may have since gone to bed, and the birds may just be waking up from their slumber, but the sea had never taken a rest. No, its constant sound as it hit the rocky cliffs below never ever disappeared, but was a constant background to each day's changing drama.

And now, it played music to the changing of the sky, as slowly the colors changed from the gentle orange back to purples, then again as the purple changed to pinks and reds, and the false dawn was replaced by the breaking of the true dawn. Slowly, ever so slowly, the sun rose up in all its splendor, sending its rays before it until it covered all of that region of the earth in light.

And the girl in the window watched and saw it all, and she herself was touched by the first beam of light as it made its way over the horizon.