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Fog Walkers

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We've walked for days. Weeks. Months. Has it been years?

I remember being a young girl, holding the hand of an older woman. My grandmother? I don't remember her speaking to me, but I can still hear her voice telling me stories.

There was a time when we walked in the Sun, in glorious light at day and in the sweet silver light of the Moon at night.
We had a goal, a quiet refuge where we could spend our lives without fear of the others. Where our way of life would be the only way.
One night it was taken away from us. We walked into what we thought was ordinary fog, but it was evil magic, their magic.
Now we walk in eternal fog, bereaved of the golden light of the Sun and the silver light of the Moon.
Cold white light, cold wet fog, cold hands to hold.

Black shadows, silhouettes without faces. There's nothing left of us. We keep walking, the fog never ending. 


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