Short Stories and Essays

The Fog

Gray. Grayness everywhere. Feels like it. I don't know where It comes from.
I walk though it, trying to find anything.
Don't know how I got here. It's all I see.
I hear a voice.
"Hello?" It's sharp, authoritative tone is familiar.
"What?" I respond, defensive.
I hear the wind. I feel it. It's gentle.
"Weren't you listening?"
"I don't know what your talking about. This is weird."
I mean to speak normal, but my voice is loud.
"Oh, it's not that weird." The voice had a sly, sarcastic tone to it.
"I see gray, It's windy, and I hear a voice. Seems weird to me."

KEYWORD ACKNOWLEDGED

Another voice, this one sounded like a computerized voice though a loudspeaker.

"The hell was that?"
"Your common sense."
"What the hell is this?"
"Your questions are unnecessary"
"And why is that?"
"Because your dreaming"
"Ok...."
The wind picks up.
"This fog is your confusion"
"and you are..."
"Your soul."

SELF ACKNOWLEDGEMENT RECOGNIZED

"Thanks for that, common sense."

"Sense of humor isn't part of this, but it does give it's regards."

"My soul is telling me that my sense of humor made a funny. How meta is that?"

A white beam appears. Like a laser. So Bright that you feel the warmth.

" And this is..."

"Peace."

Suddenly a sucking sound. I go though that familiar tunnel.

I wake up in my bed.
I turn over.
Sigh.
"My dreams can be really cliche."