catching the bus

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Postby Tappanater » July 15th, 2013, 8:35 pm

The Fog
On this fateful day, the clouds kissed the ground, mist swirls laying on the rode as a soft down blanket, the sun useeable through the thick fog. Mist sticking to my skin as I walked out my door. Automatically my eyes were rapidly adjusting to this new world covered in mist so thick that I would be hard pressed to cut it with a knife.
Looking down at my hands, I realized that I could no longer see below my knees. My very feet tell me that I am standing on my hard cold porch. Reaching out to the left, I grab the railing that is Slick from the dew it has collected over the long dreary night. I use it to guide me down the slippery steps.
It is too late now, I must get to the bus stop, treading through this perceptively solid wall of twirling, swirling, living, mist I walked on. My backpack weighing me down with each step the “swish” “thump” sending chills up my spine. So rhythmically is my backpack that the mist seems to move with it. Every step “swish” “thump” the fog parted in front of me. “Swish” “thump” over and over again the mist earning a heartbeat of its own.
Pausing at the corner of my street the “swish” “thump” stops. A deafening silence falls around me. All that I can see is the pale grayness of the fog. Standing there I wonder how I am to be sure that no cars are coming. “Would anybody even see me if I stepped out into the road right now?” Finally the crashing silence forces me to move even just one more foot.
“Swish” “thump” the world is alive again; I am not the last person on this earth. Now that I listen, my foot steps have their own sound a sound so heartwarming and present that I don’t even care. Now the mist has legs and can move itself. Opening my mouth, I get a wet sticky feel, much like how I imagine my cat feels when my mother sprays her with a mist bottle for scratching on the furniture.
Half a block away I am sure to catch the bus. “Swish” “thump” the now familiar heartbeat propelling me on, I notice a low hanging branch from an old willow tree. Passing this tree a thousand times before I never noticed how the branches heavy with dew look like long stretched out fingers reaching towards the ground. The branch stopped me dead in my tracks.
The silence of that moment came to me like a wave hitting against the rocks in the midst of a storm. Silence played a very different role at the same time it ushered in a feeling of peace with nature, like me and this little branch were the only things left in this world.
“REEEEK!!!!” The breaks of the bus slicing through that moment like a hot blade. “Oh no I have wasted too much time” The voice in my head screams. I start off at a run, “thump” “thump” “thump” my backpack hitting agents me throwing me forward with every jaw clenching impact. Now voices I can hear. On the corner my heart leaps the bus is right in front of me. “Ha” I say out loud the fog has not beaten me today even with its majestic if not a little scary majesty of it all.
As I enter the bus my vision clears, I am able to see all the way to the back of the bus. Claiming the front seat for myself I look around at all the familiar faces smiling and talking as if their world is unchanged. Looking out the window I see the fog, a world all of its own, A world of its own creation. A world where you can not only lose where you are, but you can lose yourself.

A world of The Fog.
Posts: 13
Joined: April 15th, 2013, 8:08 pm
Character Name: Morthos

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