I'm coated in fog and everything's white. It's a glowing white. My eyes almost can't handle it because it's so bright. It's too white. It's a weird thing to say. But it is. Too colourless. And it's everywhere. On every side of me. I can't see an end to it. It's like a snowstorm. A snowstorm in spring, when the snow's wet and splats on the ground like a slushy projectile instead of floating down. It's damp, it's cold, everything's white and my skin prickles, just like a snowstorm; but the similarities stop there. The thing about snowstorms is that there's snow. There's no snow out here. I'm under a cloud.
Literally.
The air is a perforating clammy. Like an adhesive in my throat when I breathe. It makes it feel like I have a thin film over the skin on my arms. A stiff film. Moving feels like more of an issue than it was before.
Everything feels like more of an issue than it was before. Everything is more an issue than it was before. Nothing was an issue before. And now...now...
Now I realize that I probably should've worn a long-sleeved shirt. Or maybe a sweater. A sweater would be warmer. But that's just me looking in hindsight at a time when I could've been smarter than I was now. If time travel was an accessibility to everyone, I would have a lot to say to myself a few hours ago. But, as it is, to be completely honest, I can't be blamed; I didn't know the fog was going to roll in. I wouldn't have even guessed it would. Even if I had somehow guessed it, I wouldn't have thought that it would be this thick.
I can't even see my hands in front of my face.
It's just white. I consciously know they're there somewhere. I know what they're doing. Waving at me. I know what that looks like. I understand the movement. But I just can't see it. And that makes it feel like I don't really have hands anymore. Like they're gone. It makes me feel closed in. Nothing to turn to for help. Hopeless somehow. Like claustrophobia.
I supress the feelings. Force myself to swallow. To breathe. It sounds so loud. Everything around me is so quiet.
The fog made me lose sight of her, you know. And now I don't know what to do now. If there's even anything I can do.
There has to be. I can't be completely helpless and hopeless.
I'm not sure what'd happened exactly. What was going on in her head. All I know is that she'd let go, and now the fog was here, and I can't see her. I can't feel her next to me. Can't hear her. It's so quiet. I can't hear anything. Even if I call her name, she doesn't answer me. It's like she just disappeared. Into thin air. Became part of the fog. And the last clear memory I can remember of her is feeling her hand leave mine; seeing her glide across the asphalt.
Slow, fluid movements.
Until she stopped. She stopped, bent down, and clasped hands with a little dark figure.
And then everything was colourless.
I don't know who it was. Or what. To me, It looked like a child, and I don't know any children. We don't have any children ourselves. So it's beyond me why she'd hold hands with one. Especially just a random child on the street. Maybe it was lost? She could've said something to me.
Why didn't she say anything to me?
I rub my arm. Trying to get the stiffness out. It's like a death stiffness at this point. I've left it be for too long. Then I call out for her again. My voice sounds like it's hitting a wall.
It falls flat and gets eaten by the ground.
There's no answer. Just the fog. I don't even feel a presence. Any presence. I'm not expecting a response at this point. I know something's wrong. The fog is just empty. Empty and unfriendly. The cold on my skin makes sense now. The whole situation is cold. I can feel it in my chest. Behind my ribs. It's unsettling.
I'm uneasy. I don't know what to do. I can stay, waiting for her to come back. Which, in this fog, seems selfish and stupid. Not even just seems, it is selfish and stupid. The other option is that I can go after her. Find her. For all I know, she's in trouble. Somehow. Inside, I almost feel like I can guarantee she's in trouble. I don't like that.
My mind fills with scenes. Of her in pain. Surrounded by faces. Or just the whiteness on every side. She's scared. She's on the verge of tears. She's alone.
I don't like the scenes.
But what can I do? How could I possibly find her in this?
I couldn't. I can't.
That claustrophobic feeling is carefully caressing the back of my mind. Getting more and more comfortable. It's just the fact that I'm stuck. That I can't do anything. That she could be in trouble.
I couldn't forgive myself.
I don't want her hurt. And it isn't 'the last thing I want'. I don't want it at all. Ever. The last thing I want is for myself to get hurt. But if it keeps her safe, I want it.
That settles something in me. Takes the wind out of that claustrophobic feeling's sails.
Call me paranoid, but I need to go after her. Make sure she's okay. Even if that means I have to walk through the fog on my own, blindly shuffling my feet. At least I'm doing something. And it could work. You never know.
Here's to optimism.
Optimism I'm forcing myself to see. Because I don't want to see the reality. I will force optimism to be my reality. Just for this moment. Just for now. I need this.
So I walk. Or shuffle. I shuffle. So my feet don't get hooked on anything. If I can avoid it, I'd rather not fall.
The fog makes my head feel full. Like it's heavy. The fog is pressing in on my mind. It's still cold.
I need magic. A magic flashlight. A magic guide. Just magic. Magic anything.
I drag my feet forward. I'm determined to get through this. The paranoia fuels me. I hold my hands out in front of me, just in case there's something hard. Like a wall. Or something else. I don't really know what's in the fog. I can't remember the layout of the street. But there were buildings, I know that much. And buildings have walls. So I'll be careful.
A thought comes to me then.
Everything's silent. Being in a town, I would've thought there'd be some activity at least. Some shouts. Some children hooting in the fog. Some excitement. But there's nothing. Just nothing upon nothing. Did nobody hear me yelling? Someone had to have at least heard me yelling. They should've said something back. Or tried to find me.
But they didn't.
Where is everything? Everyone?
That unease is still in me. It tickles my ribcage. But I push it away.
Not now.
I have to find her first. And then I can feel as much unease as I want.
Besides, if I think rationally, I'd think they're all probably inside. In the buildings. That would make sense. To wait until the fog was over.
Yeah. That's it.
So I keep going. Through the fog. Through the silence. Ignoring my unease. Ignoring everything but the thoughts that kept me going. Thoughts of her. And thoughts of her in pain.
That was the day I lost her.
