In the morning, I wake up, and outside my window I see the sleepy city sprawled before me. Fog mingles among the skyscrapers as the rising sun works diligently to burn it away. It's cold outside, but in my room it's warm as my breath puffs onto the window. The nightly din of the city has calmed down as its residents rise to meet the day or return home after a dark night shift.
I look at the clock and realize I've gotten up a few minutes before my alarm, but I'm not tired.
An hour later, I've eater, showered, and gotten dressed. The windows are open, letting the golden morning light wash over my apartment, and in it even the clutter doesn't worry me. I grab my bag and keys, and then I'm out the door, ready to see what this city has in store for me today.
Walking along the sidewalk, I smile as my city greets me. Stores are opening for the day, a few early customers flowing in and out. The people walking are friendly strangers. They make polite conversation in level voices, as though shouting would disturb the peace of the morning. No sirens blare in the distance, no cars lay on their angry horns.
It's a good morning.
I'm safe.
YOU ARE READING
The Writing Rock
General FictionAs a member of a writing club, I end up with several short pieces and nothing to do with them so this book is dedicated to that. I won't be publishing everything I write, but if it isn't terrible, it'll probably end up here.
