Snippets and Stories: (R) Red Mist

It's a strange city that I wander through. Yellow lamps glow ominously in the murky darkness, and the tall buildings stand hauntingly across long empty asphalt streets.

And then it comes.

A quiet static like noise.

This sluggish body pauses.

The noise grows steadily louder, and then I realize that it was not generated by machines, but voices.

The screams rise as I break out into a full on sprint.

But the realization came late.

The red mist descends from above and I dive into an van, slamming the door shut before the oppressive fog blankets the city.

There are others hiding with me, though their faces remain nondescript.

Wake up wake up wake up--

But when I open my eyes the eerie red mist is still there.

It was too real. Is too real.

I know what it wants. We all do.

The mist lifts, and a youth throws the door open, making a run for the building. His chestnut brown hair tussles with the swish of wind as he books it over the asphalt, almost flying.

Someone else slams the door shut in a panic.

The mist descends, and when it rises again, there is not even a hair left.

But it's not gone for long.

I'm scared. We all are.

Then, she puts a hand on my shoulder. An elderly Black lady.

A smile, and she steps out slowly.

The mist descends, and I hear her calling, looking around, searching.

Her son was there somewhere. She had lost him too to the mist. One not unlike the youth who had flung himself to bolt towards the building in futile exasperation.

Her cries are lost as yet another hand pulls me from the scene.

"Wake up, Creator."

A piercing golden eye leers down at me, but I jerk my arm away, pressing close to the glass to watch as Sandra called for her son.

Neskyii chuckled, a low laugh of amusement, "It's Time to wake up."

The hand on my shoulder does not convey the maternal warmth that Sandra's had.

It is a cold, vice grip that I couldn't throw off, and one that dragged me through the car, far above the rancid mist, and to stare up at a chalky white ceiling.

With a groan I roll over and startle at the gold eye staring unblinkingly back, silently laughing.

"Pleasant dreams, I hope?"

With a growl I flop around to face the wall.

"Oh don't be like that. You were too far into it. I had to intervene."

"Don't play innocent. That was your doing, was it not?"

He snickers and I hear a rustling hiss of what sounded like shifting sands. It sends chills up my spine and I turn slowly to face him.

"Caught..." And he holds out a blood red hand, "--red handed!"

I jerk away from the red tendrils of fog that rise up from it.

"That's--that's not funny Neskyii."

But the twinkle in his eye remains, "Oh but it is, and so entertaining besides."