Red Dawn Rising

Once again there was the dawn. The dawn of every one day, the departure of the tormentor, of the harbringer of life. It's crimson red as if it were the atmosphere bleeding, dark as the unearth blood dried out in the cold winds. The prismatic tones of it's ire quiver my skin.

It's shade conquered all of the world every day. Once, it was the announcement of rest, Once, when a tranquil view of our sun hurled out of our view, when darkness engulfed the world from our backs as we watched the most regular view of mother earth's might. We'd forget it as soon as the star completely left our views.

I have never experienced that common every day ritual. Not in my time, not with my sun, not with this planet. I have rarely seen the sun without it's avalanche of light filtered through some protecting tool. I have yet to see the clouds as my grandfather described them. They were bright, white cotton candy clouds littered along a clean blue sky. I can almost imagine, a planet for all life to last. I could almost hear it, the tones of nature, quivers my skin.

I have never liked red as a colour. It's the radiation of power, that authoritarian feature of it, which makes us humans feel so puny among it's presence. It's the colour of our blood we never hope to see, unforgiving and relentless. It's become the colour of our sky, the relic of our industrial advancements. It's become the redemption of our homeworld. It's the true nature of our sun. It's the intensity of humanity's most cherised treasure love so as it is the ingrained colour of all of my scars.

The colour of the sun, it burns my eyes, it stings like thorns, it hurts like the flames of hell ascended upon us as if judgement day came. The sun is no manumission of sin, rather the executioner of divine punishment. I can't call for anymore help, I stand alone, hiding until there is nothing more to see, nothing more to fear than perhaps the fear of the dark.

The darkness opens my eyes when it's meant to shut them. Time, it's a treasure given by the night. When my body wants to sleep I take the time to ponder. A cup of warm coffee next to me on the shelf. My body wrapped in an old curtain to fight the reigning cold. In saturnine state I think through my life. I reject regrets, I'm auspicious. My questions are waiting by the line. I'm the only one who can answer them.

Where can I go, how can I go. Solitude has nearly driven me to go out there, to go on a search for my peers. My realization of it's futility has yet guarded me from such insanity. Where could we go. Any one single lone human alive knows this torture, feels the same, suffers the same. There is no where to go on our planet. Where can we go, is there still time. I'm on a dead end again. The wind creeps through a recess, the screeching tones quiver my skin.

The coffee is growing tepid, the curtain is growing cold. My imagination cannot care. I have hope, I cannot afford to end up without it, it would equal moral suicide. The desecrated country outside shatter hope, the desert wastelands destroy it. Within these sands lies all of our achievements, all of our lost time.

I always hope for the myth's, I even hope for an unknown divinity to arrive and perhaps save our sorry existences from this fate, this fate bestowed upon us by our very selves. I look up to the ceiling, I see the crevices erupting in the wood, suffering the extreme temperature shifts. I pray for the ceiling to last, my only cover from the fury of the sun. I feel cold, very cold.

The ceiling is cracking. I hope to be hallucinating now that I see it. It's burning, it's cold yet it's burning. I do not believe my eyes, and my lids fall. The gloomy night has gotten to me. The cold, the excruciating cold an old curtain can only so much shield me from, it may have gotten me this time. I can hear it, I can hear the burning. My mind can not hold the barrier from my senses. I can not feel it, I am still cold. The tones, the cold makes me quiver, the sound of fire enters the silence. The paradox engulfs me. My eyes grow bright, my eyelids feel the glimmer until I raise them.

I search for my coffee, I must stay awake, I must stay active or the cold will kill me, it's driving my senses insane. I am convinced, I still have a spark in me, and I must survive. I can hardly see, it's so bright. My hand feels the coffee, spilled over it, it's so cold, so freezing. I can feel a gleam, I thought it wasn't even two hours in the night. The feeling, it's like the red dawn rising again, the only sparks of the sun that I dare to expose myself towards, as the daylight radiation may burn me alive.

Something is moving and I know it is my ceiling, the tired beams are falling down the floor. I can not hear it but I know it. The wall I rest my back against is rumbling. I shield my head, I can hardly move, I'm so cold. I still hear the burning, a prismatic tone. I'm quivering, it's so cold, I know it's still so cold, so very cold. The roof is collapsing, I can hear continuous pounding on the floor. I can not fade now, I can not go away like this, like most of us, unnoticed, dissolved into the absolution of this fire. There are too many answers still to find, this not must not have been my last. Another loud crack, I can feel it coming, the wall behind me...

I have a sore throat, my eyelids hurt.

They are so bright, I cannot open my eyes. I realize, I am out in the sun, the light is bright red, so dark yet so intense. The fury of the dying star is unleashed on my little self.

.

My head hurts, everything hurts. I can feel it burning, I can feel it dying. Every movement replenishes the pain, each muscle contributes this crucifiction. Rigor mortis. My skin is scarlet, my colour is curless, my body is beneath a barricade of burning wood. The world is so hot, so very hot. The excruciating heat my clothes can only so much shield me from, it will get to me this time. I can hear it, the cracking flames. My mind is broken by the pain. I can feel it, the tellurian inferno.

The sound of the fire orchestrates the infinite, it's intriguing, the ominous sound growing louder. I still cannot see, I can only hear. I cannot feel, the pain is all that feels. I can hear the tone of the flames, it quivers my skin. It hurts like the crown of thousand thorns.

The red dawn is rising, sealing the end of my time, when there is no time left. No time for humans, no time for the boy next door. No time for love, mourning. No time for entertainment, no time for funerals. My coffee has evaporated, the cup is dead empty, my skin is dry as dragonskin.

The red sun is shining, bright, deadly, burning all of me that's still alive. I can feel the flames, I can feel the violence, the calescence thriving through me. I can almost embrace it. I pray for death, I pray for my spirit to leave the barren planet. I pray for the phoenix to come and take me. I wish that like the phoenix, we could be born again.