From the Fog

Her rushed breaths escaped her, puffs of frozen mist rising from her mouth. Her lungs ached painfully, legs screamed mercy. Arms pumping at her sides, she tripped on a tree root, tumbled, and regained lost steps. The trees appeared the same, masses of brisly green leaves, hard rotted bark. Running, fleeing the inevitable, she frantically stumbled across a rise of rocks. Soil crumpled, spilling down the hill she crawled up. Choking on air, she raked her nails in the dirt, tripping over her bare feet. Delicate lace stitched along the neck of her dress ripped, threads snapped taunt. Panting, she brushed smudges off her angry, puckered knee abrasions.

A twig snapped from behind.

"Help me!" She screamed to the silence, hoarse voice shrill; it echoed tauntingly back, bouncing off the tree trunks.

Tears streaked her fevered cheeks, sweetheart pink flushed her entire face from fatigue. Walking circles, she held her tight fists at her sides, curled into her dress skirts. Panic fluttered her pounding heart, threatening to break ribs and split skin. She scratched nervously at her wrist artery, a tick she obtained since little. Fire burned her throat, and she viciously clawed her neck, trying to find her voice again.

Breaths quickened, fog wrapped around her slender, curved body. Sweat dampened her pale forehead, flat brown strands glued against her cheeks, in her mouth. She felt shrouded, unable to tell the time or the day. Leaf litter kicked up, skittered in all directions.

She shrieked, dashing through the bowed branches. Twigs grabbed at her arms, snagged on her dress, stealing pieces of the fabric. Holes stretched down her sleeves, but she continued the perilous retreat, knowing not where she headed.

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The black coffee, straight and unsweetened, tasted coldly sour. Grimacing, he swallowed the last few gulps before tossing aside the papercup. He held a hand to his mouth, belching deeply once, twice.

Inched slowly down the road, fog blocked all four sides of his Ford truck. He crawled a mere fifteen miles per hour, agonizingly slow compared to the speeded pace of eighty. Green eyes squinted against the meager light his headlights offered, he leaned forward on the wheel. No cars moved slowly past, leaving him to believe it was clear to speed up. Never in his life of thirty-five had he witnessed mist worse than this bout. Global warming, he knew, the millions of factories that pumped smog into the blackened skies.

Grumbling, he turned the dial, turning up the radio volume. 'On The Road Again' was currently playing friendly guitar tunes; he tapped random beats against he leather of his steering wheel. Entirely focused on the song, the man never saw her coming.

'On the road again

Going places that I've never been

Seeing things that I may never see again

And I can't wait to get on the road again'

He noticed the strips of her white dress, believed she was a deer trapped in his headlights. Cursing, he slammed on his brakes, swerved the wheel.

Tires squealed, burnt rubber stank the air. She held up her red arms, shielded her face, shrank away from the light. A shadow lingered, hidden in the corner of her eye. The truck shifted weight, bed swinging for the left. Eyes closed, she waited for metal to crush her bones, grinding them to dust.

"Miss, you alright?"

She peeked open one eye, blinking at the sharp glint of yellow light glared at her sweaty face. Her ravaged throat wouldn't allow her to speak. Shaking her head, she huddled between the two mustard yellow lines, skinny arms wrapped around her chest.