I’ve always been a night owl. From as far back as I can remember, mornings have been something to endure before my real day starts. My parents and a long string of other type-a personalities have put consistent effort into changing me to no avail. It seems to be part of how I’m made and no amount of habit changing has been able to reverse my late-leaning circadian rhythm.

From getting terrible grades and dropping out of my college classes that started before 9 AM to working the early shift at Starbuck’s, where we tossed back espresso shots like junkies, mornings always remained a struggle. Even when I moved to Japan and the timezone was flipped by 12 hours, my body quickly sussed out day from night and made me pay for it with every 5:30 AM wakeup. I resigned myself to the life of the permanently tired night owl trapped in the working world dominated by morning people.

Then, near the end of 2008, everything changed. My daughter was born and with her arrival, my relationship with the morning was reset.

As any parent will attest, a new baby = no sleep. Especially if they are your first. They break you and brainwash you and there is nothing you can do about it. Very little memory remains of what my life was like before my daughter and I’m oddly OK with that.

The interesting side effect of my daughter’s mind control was how quickly she was able to accomplish what no job or /more-productive-than-thou/ shaming ever had. I was still a night owl but I no longer cared about how early it was because I was just so thrilled to see her happy. She would cry, I would plod my way over to her, she would smile and all was right with this wonderful new world.

The other day, she turned five. She woke up early but I can tell that she’s probably going to be a night owl like me. We stumble out to the kitchen. I grab the pancake mix and click on a burner. She folds her arms against the morning chill. Neither of us talks or opens our eyes much but we are happy for the time together, no matter how early that happens to be.

A tiny silver light shines like a brilliant star in the near total blackness of a bedroom. It’s steady beam faintly illuminating the pause/play symbols on a set of headphones. Within their while plastic shell, small magnetic drivers pulse a faint rhythmic beat into a woman’s ears.
If this woman is listening, we can’t tell as she is making no expression. Her only sign of movement is the equally rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she takes in and releases air.

Minutes flow on with no change to the muted scene.
The headphones continue to pulse.
The woman continues to breathe.

Before we loose interest, however, a car passes silently outside. The light from it’s headlights rush across the room and momentarily reveal a hidden world we couldn’t see before. Warm, red colored walls. Photographs framed in rough golden wood. The open door to what looks to be a bathroom. The silky shine on the folds of the woman’s pajamas as she lays above her covers.
Within this sudden visual revelation, we are also able to see a movement that we could not perceive before. Wisps of black smoke are silently curling from underneath the woman’s still body. Once the light is gone, we can no longer see them but the density of blackness within the room falls even heavier than before.

Though we can no longer see the room’s details, we know that things are changing. The rhythm from the headphones no longer matches the woman’s excelerated breathing. The black smoke fills the room and we can no longer see the details of her face as we could before. The small silver light remains our only visual guide.

The light begins to move. Slowly at first, then more quickly, it rises high into the air. The woman’s breathing continues to quicken and follow the light upward until we hear a sudden gasp. Instantly, the black shroud fades from the room and we can see the woman is levitating far above her bed. From our viewing angle, we can barely make out a surprised expression as she continues to gasp the air.

Another car silently passes outside and the beam from it’s headlights track across the room from right to left. As the bright light scans over the levitating woman, her body falls slowly and silently back atop the covers of her bed.

On the one year anniversary of Don’s divorce, the moon appeared in the morning sky, bright and large, defiant to the expectations that it should sink away with the night. Smiling up, Don identified with day moon. If his ex wife had any say, he too was expected to sink away with his failed former life and remain forever in it’s crumbled ruins but, like the day moon, Don chose to defy Earthly expectations and remain in the daylight. However, like the day moon, Don knew he couldn’t stay in the daylight forever. The daylight was for the young and the virgins. For the newly adult girls that encouraged him into one-night flings of passionate abandon. Not that he fought their advances. To be honest, he down right encouraged them; conceited and thankful for a youthful body that advertised him as a younger man. A less lived man. A man that hadn’t split his dreams apart to share with her, only to have them returned, stale and unused. Maybe that’s why he enjoyed this new sex so much. Their young and irresponsible passion fed his lost innocence and afforded him time to pretend he wasn’t weighed down with regret. In those moments, he could pretend to be just like them, living a life full of exuberant possibility. Pretending to share in the youthful optimism that springs from inexperienced ignorance.

But he wasn’t like them, really, and the more he tried to trick himself into believing that he was, the less he could move on. He turned away from the moon, finding it less like a guiding light and more like a mirror.

“AH! Bloody hell!” Screamed Reginald as he quickly pulled his foot from the boot. Something fell out and scurried to a dark corner.

“What’s happened?!” Reginald’s assistant burst into the tent brandishing an iron cooking pot. “Are you all right sir?”

“Yes, yes, Percy. I’m fine. I merely forgot to check my boots before putting them on and I seem to have been bitten by something.” Reginald waved to the corner where the creature had retreated.”The little bugger headed over there.”

“We better find him, sir.” Percy raised his upper lip as he squinted into the dark corner. “Could be dangerous, sir.”

“Quite.” Reginald said as he tried to stand. Pain shot through the bite area causing him to hiss through gritted teeth.”You sure you’re alright, sir?” Percy asked.

“I said I’m fine. Do make yourself useful, and help me find the damned thing.” Reginald said impatiently. He limped towards his desk and grabbed a large rock he had been using as a paperweight. Percy went to another table and lit a small oil lamp.
Weapons in hand, both men carefully crept towards the dark corner. Eventually, Percy’s lamp revealed an inky black scarab beetle.

“There’s the offender!” Reginald hissed while raising his rock high overhead. Percy moved first however, and swung his pot down to the floor with a hollow bang. Unfortunately, he missed and the black insect took flight straight at him. Eyes wide, Percy ran from the counter attack hooting.

“Calm down you twit!” Reginald chided as he took the pot from the floor. “I’ll handle the little bugger.” Reginald focused on timing his swing just as Percy ran past and successfully connected with the perusing insect. The pot dinged like a bell and the scarab hit the far tent wall with a soft puff.

“That’s how you do it!” Reginald said proudly as Percy continued running around the room.

“Settle down Percy! It’s over!” Reginald yelled. Percy gave a surprised look and panted to a stop.

“Sorry sir,” He bent over leaning on his knees. “I aint never had such an insect chase me before.”

“Yes well, perhaps the next time you find yourself in such… mortal danger you will do better to keep your head about you?” Reginald stood over his kill. “Remember, I’m the one who was stung. Besides, it’s merely an insect. What harm could it do really?”

Little did Reginald know that, even as he spoke those words, a metamorphosis was beginning to take place within his body. Fortunately, Percy had taken Reginald’s chastisements to heart and was able to dispatch a man-sized scarab that he later found in Reginald’s room.

From a creative writing excercise where we were challenged to write in two different accents.