Sunrise
I think that sunrise has always been my favorite time of day. Sunrise, dawn daybreak, whatever you call it, my favorite time in the world is the few minutes before the sun peeks over the edge of the world. When that happens, I always try to be somewhere high up and isolated. Always.
I remember that when I was a weak, bullied child in Nibelhiem who had woken up in the predawn light to sob his eyes out without his mother hearing, I would head outside with bare feet, wearing my ratty old flannel sleep pants and whatever (torn) shirt that I had worn yesterday. I would quickly grab a slice of bread and maybe a bit of cheese if we could spare it, and then I would trot to the ridge that was roughly half a mile past the creepy old ShinRa mansion. Tired, hungry, and out of breath, I would sit down and lean my back against the twisted apple tree and pluck one of the ripest fruits. Next I would remove the dagger I had hidden between the trees' roots and carefully carve thin slices out of the apple, smoosh the soft goat's cheese into the bread, and place the apple slices on top. I would then munch on the remains of the apple, eating the entire thing, core and seeds included. Hey, I was hungry. The rest of my breakfast was savored as the sky in front of me slowly lightened, turning pink and a perfect shade of pale lavender.
And then, the sun's crest would suddenly sneak over the horizon, and the sky and feathery cirrus clouds would blaze with bright golds, rosy pinks, and purples while the sky a bit farther away would be a pale, almost white blue. Next would come the robins' egg blue, and the color would darken in tiny increments until, near the opposite horizon, there would be an indescribably rich shade of indigo that shrouded the few remaining stars. And then there was the sun itself. A golden globe with tongues of red-gold flames licking the edges as it rose, the sun was too bright to look directly at, but I tried. The atmosphere was thinner near my home than in other places, on account of us being so far into the mountains.
A few times, the moon would still be out when the sun rose in all it's fiery glory, and it's rays would paint the crescent moon red, orange, gold, and lavender; it made the moon positively glow. That was not the best experience though, not by a long shot. Once, during the coldest winter I could remember, the warm pinks had all but disappeared, leaving the purples and golds to do it's job instead. There was an extremely thin, wispy cloud that hovered near the ceiling of the sky. One small ray hit it by chance, and for a few minutes I was held spellbound. The ice crystals in the cloud refracted the light and bounced it around the cloud, turning it and everything around me all the colors of the rainbow, and then some. I only saw it that one time, but every morning I would hope to see it again. I still do. Maybe, if I can see it again, everything will go back to the way it was before. Maybe my friends will still be alive. Maybe the greatest men ever born would still be that way, and sane. It's a foolish thing, I know, but it's really all I have to hold onto now.