Aurora & Nox


He started the day as he usually had. Upon gleaning at the quality of sleep the night before and passing judgment rather it was restful at all, or if it would be a day of playing constant catch up, lagging behind a pace or two.

This quick judgment of the day rather helpful or hindering got him moving in two totally different rhythms. A restful night meant the day would come and the strength and dogged determination of Atlas would imbue him, despite the hardship or hindrance in the way, would willfully attack the day.

The opposite rang too on an equivalent occasion. The night filled with the standard human jarring of a sleep unfound: an inability to find the right position to drift off, a pillow too flat, a room too hot. Sometimes, too, the night filled with haunts and horrors of past and present that rend at his sense of self-worth, sense of belonging. A voice not all his own, but looked and sounded similar enough to his own that these words were accepted.

Aurora roared across the sky come morning time and he was of two different personal constitutions, but nonetheless day broke, and with it came the unfolding of the day.

The latter of the two was true today and he rose from the grave like bed, the mirages and illusion of the nighttime had mostly dissipated in the outpouring of the suns rays on to earth. He rose, dressed, and steeled himself for today’s work.

He arrived at work and began getting along with the tempo of today’s tasks. He saw his fellow co-workers all excited to see him and thankful that he was there. For he bore more than his necessary share of the work; the night he waded through just previously was far more difficult, so he did so happily. Perhaps he believed that somewhere in the heart of hard work lies the secret to dispelling the cold haunts that often afflict him at night.

He passed the day joking with his co-workers, sharing and listening to the unfolding of the daily dumbness that humbles us all, reminding us that we are indeed fairly fallible, and enjoyed the company of others.

The sun began to set and it was time for the days work to conclude for another day to come tomorrow. He said his goodbyes and with it went home. Another night had come and he worried about having another restless night A restless night again filled with strange haunts, and strong words spoke against himself. He longed for a good night’s rest for in it was vital rejuvenation, a voyage to a maybe magic place that kissed our wounds, and softened our soreness. If nothing else a sound sleep allowed him skipping these painful personal brushes that have long weighed on his mind like stones in his the pockets of his soul.

He often blamed the moon and the dark listlessness it brought and when that felt of poor meaning he would blame himself.

He crawled into bed, placed his head down upon the pillow, pulling the covers up to his chin and lay in perturbed expectation of what kind of night it would be.

Light broke forth signaling the rise of another day, the end of another night.

With a mighty yawn and stretch, he started the day as he usually had.


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