There was something about a sunrise. Perhaps it's because most people associate a new day, a new beginning, and end to what had come before, but the sun rising had always mystified Clay.

From before almost the day he had been born, he remembered always the bright rays of the magnificent glowing globe upon his skin, he creeping out of his home, the sky barely alit with light to witness the blessed event each morning.

His father never did understand his son's fascination with the sun, but he did nothing to stop his visits out to meet it in the wee hours of the morning.


One night, Neville had came home late, and had stopped over to look in on his young child. He was out of bed and felt a momentary panic that something had happened to him. But when he looked out of the window, he spied his son sitting on the lawn, on the little hill off to end of their estate.

First he was a bit worried - no child should be up at this ungodly hour, sitting on wet grass. He would assuredly catch a cold, him being barely clad in his thin pajamas. Then annoyance set in - that his son would cause unnecessary worry, for him and his mother.

Then he felt a kind of fondness as he gazed at his son. Only he would do such a thing. His face sported a thin smile as he started towards his son.

What are you doing here? his booming voice starling his son out of his silent reverie.

Clay murmured softly, turn to face his father. You're home, he quietly sighed, a twinge of relief flashing in his eyes.

Neville frowned. This wasn't typical behavior for the child - he wasn't usually the quiet, silent type. He kneeled next to Clay. Yeah, I am, he agreed. Clay, you do know that if anything is wrong, you can tell me, right?

Clay looked surprised. Of course Dad, he answered slowly, confusion marring his face. What's this about? he asked, his face turning to face the beginning streaks of sunlight. The sun's broken stripes of light bouncing off Clay's fair skin, hugging his face and his body. It seemed to him as if the sun itself was bowing to his son, a silent reverence given to him. For a moment, Neville was silent, his breathing shallow, taking in the sight.

Clay ventured, wondering if his father even had heard his question.

What? Oh right, nothing's wrong, son. But I just wanted to let you know that it's okay to talk to me, even when it seems like I'm busy. Neville tried to convey his message in his face and his eyes since he was failing to do so in voice.

Clay looked at his Dad. He was seeing what he had been seeing for the past 12 years, but this morning, this morning something was different. He took in his father's set face, often set in sternness, but this morning full of compassion. He stared into his eyes, those same eyes that has seen the worst mankind had to offer and was still sane. Those eyes were telling his something different this time, they were shining with the love he knew his father felt for him, but it comforted him none the less to see physical proof of it. His whole face seemed to be more relaxed than usual and the grimness he normally felt in the presence of his father had let up a little, leaving only a comforting calmness.

Yeah, Dad, I know. He spoke carefully, understanding that he was consenting to more than what was said. Nothing's wrong, I'm fine. I'm just glad you're home and are okay. His face tilted backwards, allow the streams of light dance on his face.

Neville nodded, watching the sunrise with more concentration. You didn't answer my question earlier. Why are you out here?

I'm watching the sunrise, Clay stated simply, as if it should have been obvious. And it was, but his father knew there was more to this than a sojourn to see the sun.

he prompted.

Clay gave him a slight smile and Neville froze. Something was wrong. In all the years his son had been alive, this expression that he had on was unknown to him. It suggest knowledge, that he knew something important, it made him sense that something was different about his son.

What else is there Dad? He took a deep breath, breathing in the fresh cold clear air, letting the smell of wet grass and dew tickle his nostrils. I just I just felt that this- He waved at the rising sphere of fire, -that this was calling me, as if I needed to be here today, this morning. Have you ever felt like that? He pointed his curious eyes at his father, awaiting his answer.

Yes, sometimes, Neville heard himself say even though he had only a glimmer of what his young child was talking about. But even if he didn't fully understand, he was glad that his son was experiencing it, something that only a privileged few would ever feel and that he was here, even if what he was feeling must be only a bit of what Clayton is feeling now. He shook his head. He seemed to be caught in this daze that had ensnared his son.

Then you know what I'm feeling, Clay responded, relieved that he didn't have to explain, for the emotion, the feeling he was feeling at this moment was indescribable, at least in mere words alone. It was rather, a sense, something you feel only a few times in your life. A sense of contentment, unrivaled by even the most precious of your memories.

Yes son, I do know. And with that he left his son, sitting on the wet grass, but uncaring if he got sick. Clay paid him no attention, if he did he didn't acknowledge his father's leave, his eyes back onto the sun.

Neville quietly entered the house. He walked up the staircase and into the master bedroom. He quickly changed clothing and laid down next to his wife, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before draping his hand over her and falling asleep.


And now he sat, the same place where he had been sitting all those years ago. Except things were different now, he had grown up, his father was dead and his mother old. Things had changed from the carefree life he felt all those years ago to the bleak, empty nothingness he lived now.

Not to say he didn't enjoy his life now. It has its' moments and he truly did love his job. But a job of secrets is a life alone. No time for friends, always absolved in his work and then there was always the fact that they might be working against him, planning his own downfall. In his world, it plays to be paranoid.

But damn, does it get tiring after a while. Sometimes he wished he had heeded his mother and had become a doctor or a lawyer or something. At least then, he would have a more fulfilling life.

His job was important; he knew that. He kept the world and his country safe, how much more rewarding could that be? But still, he could help but wonder if there was more to it, if he was just going to be destined to the lone spy, keeping secrets as a living.

He had descended from a family who made spying their living and even though his mother had wanted otherwise, it was known that he would follow in his ancestors' footsteps. For a long time he had wanted to do just that, his boyhood full of dreams of saving the world, being so mysterious that the women of the world wouldn't be able to resist him. But that would all change and change it did.
He lost his past innocence and he wished that he could recover it. It would be nice to just be and have no obligations, to yell to the world that he had nothing to hide.

It would be nice to have the sense of rightness he felt when he was a kid every time he got up early and looked upon the sunrise.

He remembered high school and his English class had once did a unit on symbolism. He remembered reading that the sunrise was often associated with beginnings, the beginning of a cycle, the beginning of the new day. And with beginnings come new changes, new hopes and new dreams. He remembered what that was like; back then, to have hopes and dreams.

Maybe sitting here today, watching the sunrise as he did so many years ago would bring on a new beginning, the beginning he had been hoping for so long. After all, it's the start of a new day.

THE END