The Fog

I had an interesting idea for a story. Because I'm already working on a novel, I shall write a few paragraphs or lines every now and then and post then on my blog. I'm not going to go back over it and check it or anything, so excuse any grammatical/spelling errors. I have no idea, really, where this is going to go, I just had this image and vague feeling, so, here goes.



With his chin on his desk, George Brown gazed--frowning--out the window.

It was Friday afternoon, but the sun was nowhere to be seen. Although you couldn't tell by looking up, the sky was covered with thick, gray, ominous clouds. There was something mysterious about this fog, and George didn't like it at all. It was suppressing and dark. Ever since childhood, he had disliked fog; the reason probably being that he had once gotten lost in it when he was hiking, and almost never made it back home. Most fogs he could deal with, but this one-- it just didn't feel right.

George sighed resignedly and creakily stood up. It was different not having to go to work every morning. During his working life, he had always dreamed of waking up at 11:00, dragging through breakfast, watching TV, and being generally lazy. But, now that he was actually there, he found it too tiring to wake up any later than 6:00. And it had become boring sitting in front of the TV all day long.

In the distance, he heard a sad, lonely church-bell toll, muffled by the thick fog. He glanced down at his watch. 3:01.

Maybe he'd take a walk up to the old church. Yes, that's what he'd do. He needed the exercise.

Soon he was striding briskly down Rose Street, trying to ignore the fog pressing in around him.