When Dawn Breaks

In the morning, when dawn breaks, a soft golden hue stretches across the horizon, chasing away the dark remnants of the night. Life stirs as it always does, the earth taking its first breath, and the birds, ever hopeful, begin to sing. But it is in this very moment, when the world seems to awaken anew, that death slips through the cracks.

The sun peeks timidly over the trees, and there, in the stillness, is a body—once full of breath and purpose—now lying cold on the earth. The clock ticks on, oblivious to the fact that something has ended. And yet, in the distance, a crow caws, its sharp cry cutting through the silence like a blade.

At the hour of the crow, recoiling within the aftermath of execution, there is something unsettling in the air. You can feel it. It’s not just the crow’s cawing—it’s the unnatural stillness that hangs like a fog. Death has arrived, but not in its usual, expected way. No, this death was sudden, violent, uninvited. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, not in the middle of the night, not so quickly, not so carelessly.

They tend to do that, you know. When death happens unnaturally, when it’s out of place, there’s a stirring in the creatures of the earth. The birds recoil, the wind shifts, and the world seems to hold its breath, waiting for something it cannot name.

But don’t worry. In the morning, things will be different. The sun will rise, gently dispelling the dark, and for a time, the world will try to heal its wounds. There will be a moment of peace, an hour where the earth feels as though it has forgotten the pain of the night. The body, though still and silent, will be a reminder of a life once lived, a loss that can never be erased, but in the light of a new day, the living will find a way to keep moving forward. Not forgetting, but learning to live alongside the memory.

And though the world cannot stop for grief, it will carry it with us, woven into the rhythm of life itself. The crow’s call will fade, and though the silence lingers, the dawn brings with it a quiet promise—that even in the aftermath of sorrow, life finds a way to begin again.

P.S. This story was brought to life by a digital imposter with a little help from yours truly—because no one pulls off a plot twist quite like I do.