Pacific Dawn

        Everything shuts off. All I see is darkness, and all I feel is the steady ebb and flow of my chest. I can move, but where did reality go? Distraught, I open my eyes, realizing it was a dream.  I sighed and I simply sat up and starred into the sullen and silent room, illuminated by an ominous, ethereal blue that seemed to eat up whatever black it could.
         I turned my head lethargically and happened to spy the bedside clock out my one open eye. The artificial glow read 4:39; such an odd time for me to wake up during summer vacation. I tried to fall back asleep, but I simply could not do so. I simply laid there, wide-eyed and awake. The dim morning barely glowed through the window pane, spilling more blue ink into the sea of darkness. After about half an hour of attempting this futile task, I decided I’d go outside, as I have never been awake at such an early hour as this one.
         I walked down my stairs, being careful to make no noise lest my parents wake up. That would be awkward. I could always lie and say I’m simply getting something to drink. That’s petty enough to get by.
         I’d finally reached the door, and as I was opening it, I suddenly changed moods completely. I walked outside into the azure abyss, and all I felt was a not so cold, but a not so warm feeling either. It could only be described as comfortable; relaxed.
          The trees looked as if they only had two elements, black and blue. Abstract, surreal, and so real. There was not a sound as I stepped into the dew drenched grass. It shone like grass, but it felt like a numbing cotton. But the shine, the dawn drenched blue upon the dew drenched grass, was enough to simply captivate. Protruding in the distance were the myriad trees that surrounded our lot. Black prickly fingers jetting up from blue glass grass cut deep into the sky above. Their skinny figures lacerated the fine blue umbrella ether that hovered myriad miles above.
         After a while, a chorus of fading chirps and tweets intertwined within the air, lining the laces of their songs through the windless vista. Each individual chirp also seemed to have meaning, some sentimental meaning that only bird-kind could only ever decipher, and  for human-kind to simply dream of what conversations they could possibly be partaking in. The hidden instruments of the shadowed trees continued strumming their vocal harps, as I stood still within the tranquil truce of night and day.
         The simple delicacy in it all was just perfect. The singing birds, the black and blue  view, the crisp and fresh smell, all of it was just perfect. But after a while I began to notice the delicate frame of what was around me. The breeze of a
         But my eyes still felt weary, and whilst my ears could listen to the pacific songs all morning, I was still as sleepy as the descending moon. I went inside, crept upstairs, and crawled into my luke-warm bed. I began to drift asleep, now dreaming dreams of the realm of blue ghosts and graces; the land of silhouettes.