Fog’s Fingers Creeping In

I am looking for the sun this morning but it has yet to come up over the eastern hills. It is one of those mornings where it stays dark too long and you aren’t sure.

“Release him,” I demand from the foot of the sierras. “Unclasp thy stony grip and let us share in his warmth.”

There is a rumbling beneath my feet of the kind that originates somewhere under the waves of the Pacific, down in abysmal faults, and moves plates the size of continents.

I hold my ground and for a moment there is hope; shades of pink and crimson have awakened the sky but are quickly fading. There is another summons, this time reverberating from somewhere beyond the eastern horizon, that slowly gives way to fingers of fog that creep over the hills and down through its crevices. I’ll be in their grasp soon.

The entire metropolis will be in their grasp soon.

No sunshine today. Only clouds.


Filed under Featured Content, Flash Fiction, Writing

2 responses to “Fog’s Fingers Creeping In

  1. sfdiamondgirl

    I stumbled across your blog and your flash fiction is truly marvelous. I especially loved this one (stories about fog are pretty much the best) and am looking forward to reading more of your writing.


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