Fog Mum's late. She's been late before, many times, so I'm not worried. (but i'm definitely bored) My brick phone stared up at me. 1545, it says. 15 minutes late in picking me up this time, she's going to set a new record. She also said that if she was late by 20 minutes or more, I should start walking back one the main road so mum could pick me up by the road, or arrive home in sweat. (tick tock tick tock) I do not want to walk. Cello in one hand, gym kit in the other, a load of textbooks on my back, I am not prepared to walk 2 & a half miles with this gear. (come on mum) My stupid brick has no credit left, so communicating with her was out of the question. Speaking of the phone, it now wrote 1548. (two minutes to prevent the loss of the use of my legs dearest mother) A shuffle behind me. Some year 9 is walking, with headphones connected to a smartphone (so jel) out into the main road without acknowledging my existence. After a moment's hesitation, I follow. (waitings boring) So I am on my way home, headphone boy a few yards ahead, following the main road, eyes on the traffic for any sign of my mum's blue Ford Focus. Strangely, there was a normal flow of traffic moving in the same direction as me, but no oncoming vehicles. At all. Is there a traffic jam down there? I can't see one, but down the road instead is a wall of mist (or is it fog) obscuring my view. There was no way of telling what is going on beyond that. Headphone boy is still ahead of me, seconds from stepping into the first part of the intimidating fog (aaand in he goes) & in he goes, fading gradually as he walks (or glides or drifts or flies) further away, until he disappears completely (spooky). This was some fog. I only became aware of my entering the cloud when it didn't feel like a cloud (or fog or mist) at all. Rather than it being like tiny water droplets on my face, they were like prickly tears stinging my cheeks (ow), but when I reached up to touch my face with my fingers, it was completely dry. Then I became aware that those fingers were no longer holding my cello. I looked down at my other hand, where the gym bag had vanished & looking back up, so had the houses & the cars & the road & the trees & the sun & all that was there was the whiteness & the painful spit of the fog (not a fog not a fog at all) & then the pain was gone (where am i) but I feel my feet, still walking (or gliding or drifting or flying) on something (what is it what) like they're taking me somewhere (where am i help me) but I can't shout or say anything at all (whats happening help me please) & there goes my feet (did my feet go or did the road go help me) & I can't even move my face now (help me) so all I see is the staring whiteness (help me) & I am suddenly not there in body (what is this where am i help me) or mind (who am i help me) & (help me) I (help ME) am (HELP ME) suddenly (HELP ME) gone.