Morn and Night.

Authors Avatar

Joanne Vale

This supernatural transformation happens every day, but no-body notices or realises.  They only see and feel how the atmosphere changes.  Adrenalin starts pumping, creating vivid images of dark, tall murderers, creepy, butch rapists and masked thugs armed with objects of violence.  Then it suddenly changes: murderers transform into daffodils and daisys which litter gardens and grass cut-a-ways next to concrete paths, reflecting collected dew onto passing traffic, rapists turn into free flying birds, escaping to the heavens above, whilst thugs turn into freshly painted cottages and soaring flats which disappear into fluffy shapes of cotton wool.  This change is night and day.

Morn

I wake early, lying still, listening.  Faint breathing can be heard in the next room.  Although it is six ‘o’ clock, with dark curtains covering the sky, the birds are heard talking to each other, spilling secrets that they have collected through out the week.  The low, distant hum of traffic can be identified, as hectic twelve hour shifts awaits those who dread the Monday morning opening onto the hell of work.  I realise that I’ll have to rise out of bed soon, as the radio switches on to booming beats and whiny lyrics of some new band.  The remains of my old alarm clock still sit on my bedside table; its ring silenced forever as memories of it smashing against my wall bring a happy smile onto my relaxed face.  I crawl out of my covers, and fall out of bed.  The air is crisp and clean, though it sends shivers to every part of my body.  Faces stare at me from all sides of my walls, each in their different poses.  The radio still blares out disturbing the loud, brisk breathing from next door into a softer, lighter sound as they start to stir awake.  I turn it down, and then slowly drift into the bathroom.  The sky seems to be fading, new colours enter the atmosphere.  The navy-blue sky highlights certain points on its Earth below, whilst the sun’s rays try to break through, ripping holes in the material, shining its own light onto the night’s dew.  Dark, barely seeing shadows that haunt the night gradually show the dying plants with their cracked pots and the neighbours’ cars with their own name and identity.  Whilst noticing these natural but at the same time, amazing everyday occurrences, I find myself dressed in my dreary, drab uniform whilst the rest of the house moves as its contents wake to find another cold, November day.  I drift into my room and find it’s 7:15.  Grabbing my make-up, I change my appearance as everything becomes softer, whilst blending skin colours together.  There’s a rattle on the door knob and my sister suddenly comes bursting in, bouncing with every step.  As she waltzes round the room, the sun seems to win its battle, as it bursts through its wall, lighting up rooftops, car tops, even the tips of grass strands.  Suddenly the hum of traffic becomes louder, and more coarse, as people rush to get to destined places on time.  

Join now!

It’s now 7:50.  Everyone around me is rushing to get ready, whilst the wind outside picks up, blowing its breath onto every thing it can.  Clouds seem to cry as the heavens open, releasing water.  Plants seem to be the only living things that enjoy this outburst.  Birds fly to their nests, people run to bus shelters, porch covers, cars, anything to protect themselves from the pouring drops of liquid.  Then suddenly, as soon as it starts, it stops.  The sun fills the sky with its radiant colours and heat, birds come out of hiding, tweeting and twittering as ...

This is a preview of the whole essay