Fog

In the fog, shapes are unclear. Shadows move in and out of wisps of gray; darker spaces undulate close and fade back into the swirls. My senses are alert, but every soft breeze sends panic down my spine. I close my eyes and put my hands out.

There is not a right direction, so I just move forward. I must have entered this way, so shall I continue. With my eyes closed, I take deeper breaths to calm myself and focus on the movement, using sound and my imagination to guide me. Whispers near me never bump into me, so I begin to grow braver, surer.

This fog has to end. It must.

I feel something coming, looming. The air changes somehow. I can't describe it, but I know it with every part of me. My hands began to reach farther ahead of me. It's here, it has to be.

The light or darkness behind my eyelids does not change. The swirling, chilling mist still chills.

But I touch something solid.