Edward J. Nichols Memorial Award in Writing (Fiction)
One Day
by Gus Henry Smith
I woke up to a gray morning, as gray as every other morning.
Cloud-filtered light flooded in, through windows, through open doors,
filling every room, every hallway, every closet. The house was like one
open room, bathed in gray light.
It was much like any other forgotten morning. Sometime long
after I’d left my bed, after I’d put my shoes on and walked downstairs, I
wondered idly what day of the week it was, what month it was.
And that’s how it often was. Gray mornings existed by themselves
– the clouds would burn off, the sun would break through, and then the
day would begin. What existed before then was separate.
Yet it wasn’t exactly like any other morning. From the moment
I woke up, I’d known the house was empty. I’d known I wouldn’t find
my sister or my parents.