peacehaven-michael-hayes

I awoke to a light burning my eyes. Quick, short breaths are working my chest hard, and the hands around my neck are relentless. I press down on the asthma inhaler and breathe deeply as I suck the cool spray deep into my lungs. The hands let go. My breathing slows. The light above my head is intense. I brush the lamp aside with the back of my hand and place my hand on my chest. It’s there, as it always has been. I roll it in my fingers. Just knowing it’s there comforts me. My breathing has become normal. It’s there; this is the day, and to me, that is all that matters.

In my hand is an old brass key that has long ago lost its shine, tarnished a deep brown and green. The inscription on the shaft of the key is still legible: ‘Remember Sarah.’ I read it every day to remember. The key is attached to a thin strap of leather that hangs from my neck. I rarely remove it, except for this special day of the year, which is so important.

The first rays of sunlight are creeping over the Highfields mountains in the eastern distance, displaying a beautiful deep orange. I admire it momentarily, then step off my veranda. I’m carrying a torch, but the sunlight coming in is still enough to give me some confidence. A heavy fog is beginning to drift over the small town of Peacehaven.

I take a deep breath, and I taste the cool, moist morning air. It tastes good. I leave my home behind me, making my way along Mocatta Street with streetlights barely visible in the thickening gloom. Shop fronts that would soon come to life for the day stare out like dark, empty eye sockets in the mist.