Welcome back to the daily prompts. The first for this week.
Sunrise without singing
Yesterday there had been song. She had rolled onto her stomach in the bed, wrapped the pillow over her head and groaned as the radio blared its wake-me-up music from the kitchen. She had stretched out a hand, touching the warmth he’d left as consolation for waking her.
Lifting the pillow away, she had squinted towards the window where a golden glow scorched the thin curtains.
Sunrise. The best time of day, he insisted, and she laughed and denied it, said sunrise was for the birds, and they would both laugh.
This morning, there is sunrise without singing. Her hand reaching out is met by a death-like chill. She rolls onto her stomach, pulls the pillow over her head and grieves into its soft folds.
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