The morning sun had not broken the cover of darkness that enveloped the relentless hum of the summer night. Insects, fuelled by the dew drenched air, flew in panicked, thoughtless loops, as they created a wordless choir of screeches and high pitched whistles. A faint smudge of flame-coloured sunlight had bled across the thin line of the horizon, highlighting the bone white crescent moon in the sky. It was a beautiful morning that sung the joys of late February to the residents of Charleston. The child was awake, lying unnaturally still on the crushed white sheets of her bed. Her overhead fan was turned to medium, mixing the neutrally temperate air in constant, silent circles.
The calm before the storm.