Morning has Broken

I woke up early, with the sun slanting through the windows that formed a single-file line on my pill-shaped home. It was a beautiful morning, with casts of orange, red, and purple cascading across the sky, as though God had saw fit to bless us with His latest painting.

I yawned, sat up, stretched. In the mirror across from the bed I saw the same man I did every morning; young, fit, brunette, a little hairier than I liked, but certainly within tolerance that I did not pray for hair loss at church every week. I turned to the left; my feet hit the smooth, white floor, slightly warm to the touch.

I placed a hand on the oval on the wall, which yielding disintegrated, temporarily, from the inside out. Inside there were clothes of cotton and leather, and a few of woven steel strands; but today was not a hunting day, so I would not be wearing those. The clothing I chose was instead green and brown; a dark green shirt and brown pants that were pulled tight at the waist by a set of strings and resulted in a large, brown bow. I then slipped my feet into a pair of wood sandals; antiques from the old world, before the God who made it anew and made life so easy for us. 

I left through a larger, arched door that opened up in the same manner as the closet. I live alone, so I didn't have much furniture; a single couch, just underneath the single-file line of windows that spanned half the round room, was grown directly out of the wall and floor, centered around a low, half-circle that had been grown, mushroom-like, from the central area. Across from that was a flat wall that served as a display when transmissions were received.

In the wall on the other side of the display was another arched door that opened to the touch. Inside were a series of open, honeycomb-like shelves that contained various fruits, vegetables, and meats, as well as a long counter and a few classic bar stools; a rare thing that I had found while wandering the Wastelands to the east. They were less comfortable than the organic furniture I was use to, but I love the steel legs and the plastic, green covers. The windows continued over here, the sun lighting up the kitchen.

I took some fruits from the shelves; a red one, a green, and a yellow; and put them on the counter, pulling a knife of bone from one of the small shelves in the counter, and began to cut: the red one had a light-pink, pulpy center, and every cut squeezed out a goop of seeds and juice; the green one was seedless, with a small stem in an indentation at the top; and the yellow one was much more rubbery to the touch, so much so that I slipped and cut my finger, spilling red on the white top, which began fading as quickly as my cut was mending.

Looking up at the wall, I noticed the tree mosaic; a large, brown painting with twenty-four branches, each with six smaller branches and each branch with ten leaves. As time passed, the leaves would fade from green to yellow to red, and then green again after the twenty-fourth hour. Eight branches had already faded,

I finished eating quickly; I had an hour to get to church. I left out the front door, ran down the hall, and summoned the elevator, waiting a few minutes before sprinting down the spiral staircase.

Outside, my steed awaited; a large equine with metallic haunches. I quickly mounted and rode away, sparks flying as steel hooves encountered rocks and pebbles.

One Million Spots of Light for +Nina Pelletier

All was dark when she opened her eyes. Not a star dotted the sky; not a voice interrupted the silence. She felt the ground, glass smooth beneath her feet; so black it blended into the horizon.

She had no idea where she was.

She stood up, walking; alone, unsure, her hands in front of her. Every so often she would yell a "Hello!" and listen for an echo; listen for an end, a change. She eventually started running; faster and faster until her heart beat in her chest and she was sweating and crying as she leaned on her own bent knees.

Then, a spot of light lit up on the horizon. She looked toward it, then began running.

Then another appeared. Another, and another; until the sky was filled with stars. She looked toward them, began walking towards one; as she drew closer, the star grew brighter and brighter, until it should have burnt her eyes but it didn't.

Instead, it left behind a sparkling length of dust, shimmering like the milky way. She took a step onto it; it seemed to have no more texture than the ground she was on, but it was change; and to her, that was all that mattered.

She felt the spark of hope, and allowed herself to be guided along the starlit path as around her the sky lit up with tiny dots.

---

"What happened?" asked the man, looking down at her.

"It was an accident." replied the doctor, still in surgical scrubs. "She's stable, but..."

The woman in question was nearly hidden by all the bandages swaddling her face. She was hidden under the covers of the hospital bed. From her arms and mouth protruded various tubes.

"But?" asked the man.

"Well... she's in a coma. There is no way to tell when she will come out."

Author's Note: I had a hard time with this picture. Oddly enough, my inspiration was not the woman herself, but the darkness surrounding her. Huh.