The Sun Sets and the Sun Rises

by Sarah McPherson

Suddenly I remember that first time we sat up all night, waiting for the dawn to come. You had lukewarm sweet tea in a flask and we poured brandy in it to keep us warm and pulled faces at the taste. I remember the way you looked at me like the sun shone out of my face, like you were bathing in its glow.

Last week I waited up for you until I couldn’t wait any longer; slept fitfully, woke three times to find the sheets next to me still cold. Woke again with sunlight creeping through curtains as I heard your key in the lock downstairs.

Tonight is the shortest night, and tomorrow will be another season.

You said you wanted to see the dawn with me, that first night. I fell asleep on your shoulder and you shook me awake afterwards.


Sarah McPherson is a writer of short fiction and poetry from Sheffield in the UK. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in The Cabinet of Heed, Riggwelter, STORGY, and Corvid Queen, among others, and she has been long/short-listed in competitions including Writers’ HQ Flash Quarterly and Reflex Fiction. She tweets as @summer_moth and blogs sporadically at



%d bloggers like this: