I’ve read that good fiction was a combination of the exotic and the familiar. Personally, I’m not sure that this is the ‘secret sauce’ that by itself makes fiction good. I suspect that most of the magic is in the interplay between specific exotics and particular familiars. (Side note – I’m now imagining the fussiest black cat. Okay, I’m done. Back to work…)
Cue this week’s image. There are probably few things more familiar than the view from your own window. This time I felt there was an element of the exotic too. I’m not certain I was entirely awake when I took this, so the image being at all usable was something of a surprise. (Also that there was a sufficiently clean spot on the glass!)
The photo is essentially presented as taken. I messed with the exposure a little, and cropped out a couple of (almost) identifiable car registration plates. Other than that, this is what I and my camera saw that morning. It inescapably put me in mind of dragons, so they will of course feature in the story. It strikes me that today’s booming fantasy market actually render dragons somewhat familiar, whereas a sky like that over Scotland is distinctly a rarity. So perhaps what comes next will turn out alright, even if the weighting of the components is backward.
There’s an old saying: ‘Red skies in the morning, shepherds’ warning.’ It used to puzzle me. Other than the rhyming, I couldn’t see any sense in it. What were the shepherds being warned of? Like a young Pandora, I wanted to know. Fearless to open the box and discover the monsters within. Confident in my ability to defeat them as needed.
Foolish boy that I was. Had I been willing to learn the lessons of mythology, or history, it turns out, I could have known. For all the good that would have done anyone. Perhaps that other saying has some truth. You know, the one about ignorance and bliss. Then again, probably not.
I was lucky that first time. Lucky as so many were not on that fateful January morning that is now known as The Rising. The last sunrise that I enjoyed. On that day, unknowing I enjoyed what I thought was just the interaction of sunlight and clouds. If only!
Then, as now, I valued the Dawnfire for its rarity. Obviously for very different reasons. These days it is a warning to prepare for a difficult day. At least we get warning. An opportunity to take action. We paid a high price for our knowledge. I’m thankful every day that we don’t squander it.
This morning the Dawn Watch is mine. The eighty-third Watch since the last Dawnfire. This morning the skies were painted in flame so bright that I wouldn’t have needed my curtains open. So bright that if I hadn’t been on watch I wouldn’t have slept through it anyway. The dragons were coming.
I unlocked my phone. The Fire Guard app was already open. I tapped the big red button and waited while it scanned my face. Milliseconds stretched to aeons as it checked that I hadn’t pocket-dialled the general alarm.
All along the street a tidal-wave of activating sprinkler systems began soaking homes. I could see blue lights flashing through every set of closed curtains as a siren-call summoned everyone from their beds.
Our own warning lights strobed redundantly in every room as I turned to make sure my children were getting up. It never ceases to amaze me how teenagers will try to sleep through anything. Even the threat of dragon fire.
At the foot of the stairs I witnessed the rarest of sights. My eldest, fully dressed and ready. In one hand she carried a bag of board games. In the other, her e-reader and a couple of paperbacks.
“Morning Dad.”
“Hi, sweetheart. Is your mum up?”
“Yeah.” She chuckled. “She’s trying to wake Jill .”
I rolled my eyes. “See you out there in a bit then,” I said. “Don’t lock me out.”
She smiled and headed out to the shelter. Locking doors on Dawnfire mornings was illegal, but we wouldn’t even if it was allowed. Homelessness was mercifully rare around here, but anyone caught out would always be welcome in our Fire Cave.
I headed upstairs to enter the fray with this morning’s other mythical being – the slumbering teen.
Brandon Lim 