The Perfect Dawn

They had breakfast at the diner in the dark. Neither knew why. Their waitress was nice, though one could easily tell that she wished she was dead. He put too much syrup on his pancakes and some spilled over the plate and made a little pool of blood. He muttered. She complained that the eggs were too runny. The toast was toast. They left a reasonable tip and thought better of waking up so early. 

They turned out of the parking lot and headed east. At the end of the road, just over a hill, they were each struck by a wall of red punctuated by purple clouds and a triumphant yellow sun dripping from the horizon. 

“The eggs really weren’t all that bad.”