Slipping out of bed, onto the cold hardwood floor, I walked to the window. Pulled the blinds and stared. My house is enveloped by fog.
If you don't know me, then you probably don't know this, but I love fog. It makes me extremely happy and puts me in such a good mood.
There's just something about fog. Its not just condensed water droplets, forming a cloud at ground level. Its more. Different. Unique. Fog to me is not only beautiful, but its also helps me take in the setting one step at a time. Like my thoughts.
I'm sure I'm not the only person on the face of the planet to have a lot to think about. I've always wanted something to help me filter my thoughts, let me take in information slowly. Well, fog is just like that. It filters the environment (in an abstract sense of course). It doesn't let you look at everything in front of you all at once. It forces you to look at only something a couple feet around you.
So you stand there. In the middle of the road, looking around you in awe. Wishing your thoughts could be as simple as fog. You only see what the world wants you to see. To only think about what is in front of you. Not having to shuffle through memories and ideas and thoughts all at once. Just focus on what is there.
Tree branches peeking through the dense opaque mist as through it were stabbing the cloud of condensed water. Like the stabbing you have witnessed with your own thoughts. A mix of ideas clashing. A mix of thoughts forming. All at once. Until you stand there. Alone. Isolated. Enveloped by fog. Then someone finds you. Something finds you. And its over.
You turn. Something hits you. A flash. A blink. And your gone.
Next thing you know you know the darkness that swallowed you threw you back up. Back into the painful world. Into the light. Into pain.
Shock sets in first. Your breathing is altered. Your heartbeat has quickened. The only thing in your life now, is pain. Piercing. Stabbing. Pain. Slowly you pull and flex your flex your muscles. Lift open your eye lids, still heavy. A dull light around you sets in. Stain less windows lead in light, bashing colors pour into the room, onto scuffed, old hardwood floor and on you.
There you are. In pain. In the middle of a room. With musky smell lingering around you. The faint smell of something different. Blood. Around you, blood twinkles. Your arms, right leg, and torso are wrapping in tight towels and cotton. Crimson blood continuing to leak through, as well as the pain. The shock, keeps you from crying. Even yelling.
A man rushes out under a towering arch. He wears old jeans, with a few yellow and white paint-spatters across sprinkled across them, a faded grey v-neck shirt, and a pair of black converses. He holds a knife in one hand, a bowl of steaming liquid in the other.
Without speaking he quickly sits down besides you, as you slightly recoil.
"Who a-are... who are you?" you begin, still in shock. This is nothing like the fog. You have to take in everything at once, and there is still come to come.
"I'm Brayden, I'm so sorry to have hurt you. I-I-I didn't see you st-t-anding in the street. The fog, and-and everything made it so hard for me not to hit you..." he continued until all you could hear was a whisper, then a mumble.
"I... was hit?" you ask slowly, still in pain, gasping. You look up at him. His dark bluish brown eyes, brown mixed blond, shaggy hair falling into his face.
"Yes, I'm so sorry, I... didn't see you," he said, his hands working quickly to wrap your leg in a warm towel, "Your in a cathedral right now, its empty though. There was a window broken in the back."
Silence followed, he continued to work, the pain continued to continue.
"Your in pain," he said, a sad distant look on his face. Compassion was radiating from his body. "I'm so sorry."
Your pain starts to climax, you whimper a little, then clear liquid starts rolling down your cheek. Mixes with the blood on your face and drops onto the ground. A red tear.
Brayden finishes up quickly, drops the towel into the hot water and runs out of the room. He shuffled papers, broke something made of glass, and went through different items, all behind the wall that blocked you from seeing.
He came back with a bottle of alcohol.
"I don't know what else to do. I can't find any pills of some sort. If you want, you can drink some of this, it may lessen the pain," he said sympathetically, holding the bottle up.
You shake your head in disapproval slowly. He puts down the bottle and runs back behind the wall and then creaking of the ground as he walks further and further away. You close your eyes and start to cry. You drown out the creaking. You drown out your thoughts, like fog might. So the only thoughts you have, are the ones pleading to remove the pain. The stabbing.
Pain. Stabbing. Pain.
