MFM: Shadows Among Smoke

A fog settles between the ground and the sky, like a cloud that has sunk too low. The fog is thick and heavy, creeping into every inch of space and squeezing the oxygen out of my lungs. But people continue to march on through, as if the air is clear and the sky is blue and the clouds are out of reach as they should be.

Among those people, solid and real, are figures as pale as the fog, fading in and out of vision like a shadow among smoke. They lean in close, to the business suits and the dark-eyed students and the elderly alone on benches. Their mouths move in blurs, whispering secrets and spells. The reactions are subtle, but undeniable—shoulders sag, backs quiver, chests exhale in longing.

I hear it: a voice that doesn’t form words but sends chills down my spine and into my toes. It makes my heart twist and ache, makes my fingers reach for someone who isn’t there. I flinch as a figure floats past me, through me. He moves on, to new victims of the same whispers, unnoticed by all—except, evidently, me.

I stare as he turns unexpectedly, catching my eye and matching my gaze. He freezes, brow furrowed. Then he smirks, wiggles his fingers adieu, and dissolves away into nothing.

And yet I know, somehow, that he’ll be back.