Ray of Dawn

photo 3

A sun beam sliced its way in between the slats of the Venetian blinds, through the gloom, and illuminated Ray’s big toe where it poked out from underneath the duvet. Ray lay in bed, resting his hand on the Dawn shaped dent in the mattress; a dent that mirrored the shape of the wound inside his soul.

Specs of dust danced a dance through the single sun beam. Ray had loved to dance with Dawn. And dust had made Dawn wheeze.

As the minutes passed, the beam of light jumped down from Ray’s toe and traced a path along the floor towards the window. Dawn had had a trace of the softest down along her hairline.

Ray got out of bed and shuffled towards the wardrobe. His dark suit hung next to Dawn’s sunny dress, like an eclipse. Ray put it on, flicked some dust off the lapels and sighed.

To earth from earth, to ashes from ashes, to dust from dust and send the bright Dawn down into the deepest darkest grave.

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