Each morning, the sun arose and Merolas breathed in it’s first light.
Like clockwork, Abia awoke with it. Sleep, except the time set aside in it for dreaming, was pointless to her.

She would walk carretera medio (road inbetween) straight down the middle, one foot in front of the other, arms outstretched, because at this time she could. Windows were closed, stalls unset, most eyes shied away from this hour.

She saw a few men, clasping at flasks with no shoes. These she decided had not risen early, but had not said goodbye to the day before. Some sat on rocks plaiting nets that she knew would go out on boats for catchings. It was too early to see the women who stood on corners and smoke cigarettes in chains, as they wouldn’t appear till midday. It was not early enough to see those who had already hung the first load of laundry, and settled back to bed.

The flip of a finger would see this street covered in noise. So Abia thought her thoughts before the day took over.

She had reached the plot of the pipe stall, when a sound like the crash of a thousand drums boomed from the west. She was not high enough to see over their dip in the hillside, so she lifted her eyes to the sky. A halo of smoke black as the night camouflaged all the rising colours of the day.

© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town