The Sea at Dawn
Category B: Highly Commended (2025) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: YoYo Ren
“Beep, beep, beep…” The crisp phone notification, with its clear electronic tone, woke me up. The screen, filled with blasting red notifications, displayed the residents' group chat, named “Truth,” and spewing what seemed its nonstop spam:
JULY 5TH! THE END OF THE WORLD!!
TSUNAMI HITTING! STAY AWAY FROM COASTAL AREAS!
STORE FOOD! STORE WATER!
A blurry photo of a tsunami bore the caption, “Pre-earthquake precautions!,” along with the official logo of the Australian government. My scrolling gave way to comments of mostly sad words, and things like, “Thanks for the warning,” and “Nightmares do come true!”
“This is ridiculous,” I thought. As a single mother, my life was already consumed by work and caring for my four year-old son, Noah. “I do not have the time for these aggravating words,” was my final reflection, before closing the window.
Nevertheless, as July 5th approached, events unfolded that no-one could have ever predicted.
On that same day, when I first received that distressing notification, my best friend sent me a message:
“Hey, have you seen the group chat? I heard that a lot of wealthy people are fleeing, so that should be a sign for you, too. You should stock up on essential items. Be safe.”
I didn’t know if I could trust her (having no idea whether the tsunami was real or not). The government was still constantly stating that no one should believe the tsunami hype, so I wasn’t particularly ready to think otherwise.
5 days before the tsunami, I went to the supermarket near my home. The shelves were mostly empty: items like bottled water, instant noodles, compressed biscuits, were completely sold out. People waiting in line were busy whispering to themselves, supposedly insider information. Meanwhile, an old women outside the market stood before the passing crowd holding a huge sign that declared, in red bolded words: “THIS IS A REVENGE FROM EARTH!”
Four days from July 5th: Someone in Noah’s kindergarten’s group chat forwarded an "authoritative warning":
We strongly advise bringing your children inland before July 5th! Extreme risk in coastal cities!
Below this alert were strings of replies, such as: "Noted! Taking leave,” and, "Trying to buy tickets..." Until this moment, I still did not believe anything about the supposed impending disaster, but I felt that I could not take the risk of losing Noah. He was everything to me.
Three days from the day: During lunch break at work, the only thing we talked about was, “July 5th.” My superior even made a complex diagram, showing the different ways things might unfold. Even our local news agency posted lots of expert advisory warnings, to help people avoid trouble.
Whether or not something was going to happen, panic had already hit. Like sentient vines, rumors wound themselves around the new branches of our thoughts. I didn’t know whether I should trust myself, or the majority now. The government continued to send out articles, essentially saying: this is not true, don’t believe the sensationalism, and so on.
July 4th: In another group chat, someone proclaimed unequivocally that, "Chain explosions in coastal zones are spreading toxic gases!" These, it seemed, were the first signs of the reality of the tsunami. And Noah had started coughing a lot these days: was it because of a toxic gas release? He might have gotten a fever like the news said: “Early radiation symptoms are low fever and cough…”
"What if… What if everything everyone has been saying is true? What if... something happens to Noah… We need to leave. Now.”
And so , as the dawn of July 5th broke gloomy and gray, I packed up everything and brought us as far away as possible from the area.
July 5th: The fated day. I didn’t sleep at all, as I had been busy stuffing all the cash, bankcards, IDs, and food we would need for roughly three days, in a bag and worrying about other logistics. Around dawn, I woke up my son.
“Mum, where are we going?” Noah asked in his tiny shaky voice.
“Don’t worry. We are going to somewhere safe,” I replied.
To be honest, I didn’t know where we were going. I scooped him up and rushed us outside.
The air from the city hit me like a punch in the face. It wasn't just the cold before the dawn: there was a strange tension in the air. The streetlights created long, twisted shadows that made the normal houses look like monsters crouching down. And then, I saw two cars chasing each other. The sounds of their engines, which usually merely triggered annoyance, suddenly sounded like ghosts’ screams.
“Mum, I’m cold,” Noah whispered to me.
I rushed to our car and we took off: to somewhere without danger.
As time went on, Noah’s breathing got softer and softer.
"Noah? Noah! Stay awake, Noah, my darling!"
Pure, frigid panic swept over me. The chilly air did nothing as I rolled down my window.
"Help!" In a harsh voice, I yelled out, many times. No one responded. Tears dripped down my face. Helplessness and sorrow suffocated me.
Noah slowly closed his eyes as the minutes passed.… This time, I realized, I truly lost him.
I sat on the road next to my car holding onto my son. The sun had finally come out. The mist and haze had all gone. It felt like nothing at all had happened.
Someone far away was slowly walking out of a building, looking around warily, as if to make sure the world still existed.
Minutes later, more and more people appeared on the eerie road, as if there would be rainbows after rain: renewal after ruin. They seemed to say: “I knew this was never real,” and “All rumours…”
I lowered my head and looked at my son. The ringing in my ears wouldn’t stop; it seemed to drown out the entire world. His lips were turning purple. This was the end of everything, except the unbearable truth that my boy was gone.