House of the Rising Sun

The night stretches away from me, like a highway over the horizon.  It feels like infinity is laid out ahead of me, and when I turn my head to see what has passed it is the same.

I glance at the clock.  The second hand ticks once, as if to prove to me that time is in fact progressing.  I'm not sure I believe it anymore. I stare out the window once more. The night is still heavy over the city.

I sigh, and go get another cup of coffee.  My face hurts.  My eyes are sandpaper sheets rubbing against my eyelids.  My body aches.  If the situation were any different, I guess this would be the perfect place to complain.

But it's not.  So I wait.

The coffee is terrible.  It tastes like fetid water filtered through a sock.  No amount of sugar or creme can save it.  But it's caffeinated.

I return to the window.  My glance lingers on the door, behind which my future waits, for good or ill.  I don't want to stare.  A watched pot, and all that.

I look back out the window.  Cars are moving sluggishly through the dim light that's starting to creep up over the horizon.  My eyes squint in anticipation.  Dawn will be here soon.  I look back at the clock.  The little bastard barely moved.  I glare angrily at the device, and it apologetically ticks ahead a few more seconds.

The lip of the sun breaks the horizon, and it's like a dazzling explosion of colour.  I have to cover my eyes, it's so painful.  Stupid of me, to be staring at the dawn after a night of fluorescent lights and dark skies. I'm seeing spots when the commotion happens behind me.

"Mr. Davenport?" A voice in the bright smear that is the hallway.

"Y-yes. Yes!  What's the word? What news?" I stammer out, only now realizing I haven't spoken a word in hours.

"Good news.  It's a girl." My vision is starting to clear, the sun's dawn finally receding from my eyes and revealing the tiniest, most beautiful face I've ever seen.

And I am captivated by a new Dawn.