The sun didn’t rise this morning.
A sick red sphere hung above the eastern mountains, and pink shone dully from the few moving reflective surfaces. No shadows were cast from any object. The air was stuck in dawn, ignoring the pathetic sphere that did nothing to move dawn’s pre-sun, shadowless grey world.
The moon sat high in the west, glowing brazenly white against the sick red sphere. It was not cowed by the feeble pink glow. It warred and triumphed, stubbornly rooting itself as the master of the morning sky.
The sky above was blue, but in every direction below a suffocating haze wrapped around the city.
The sun was lost today.