The words over at Three Word Wednesday are dull, race and yawn. Something short. And, hopefully, sweet.
The yawn was stifled between his index and middle fingers. It’s cold, much too brisk for the track pants and old flannel shirt he’s fumbled into. What’s worse, he’s completely forgotten to slip into shoes.
The grass has gone dry, golden. Neighbors would say burnt, dead. He doesn’t much care. There’s a drought and he just sort of gave into nature, rather than figure out the town’s mandatory watering schedule.
One less thing to worry about, anyway.
Since already in this new place, he felt unsettled. And couldn’t quite figure out why. Just a jumpy caress along his spine, which brought shivers.
He so enjoyed this time of day, but it was so very fleeting. That’s why he’d raced out without shoes and stood shivering in the dead grass of the backyard.
To look up.
It was possible to witness day overtake the night, if you travel far enough west. Covered enough ground and ended up in a place where night was truly black, save for the twinkling of a billion stars.
His gaze was fixed directly overhead, locked on the Milky Way, a brilliant patchwork of light on a field of inky blackness. He let his eyes track east, through a dull gray patch of sky, then squinted at the brilliant orange-red of the coming sunrise. He rubbed his face, felt the stubble of another day’s growth of beard.
His eyes went back to the muted strip of sky that formed the barrier between night and day.
He stared into the void. His eyes went all out-of-focus. His body went slack, arms left dangling at his sides.