The Fog

I haven’t seen the sun in three weeks. That can’t be good, right? There’s a window right there but I can’t seem to bring myself to open it. Every now and again the noise outside is loud enough for me to hear and it reminds me why. Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing is worth doing. For years I fooled myself into thinking I had something to offer; that there was some impact I could make. I realise it was all vanity. Wishful thinking. Daydreams that I spent too long living in. Well, now I have nothing but daydreams. Everything else is beyond repair. The world woke up and didn’t like what it saw.

Had it awoken earlier, things might be different. They might be worse. Who knows. But at least we would have had a chance to fix it. A chance to bridge the divide. It’s too late for that. Everything is broken. Everything is ‘perfect’.

“I want to ask you a question. What happens when the fog is lifted? What happens when we finally see?”

“I think we know the answer to that already don’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I think you should go outside”

“You’re probably right.”

“Revolution doesn’t happen overnight you know”

“No. Though you didn’t answer my question.”

“I think I did”

“So the same as last time then?”

“Perhaps”

“Well, what’s the point then?”

“The point? The point is that we have to try. In spite of everything, we have to try”

“Why?”

“Because none of it’s real! For fucks sake, you know that!”

“It’s as real as you or I. It’s as real as what we used to have.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. It doesn’t matter what happened last time. This is different! This is not some philosophical debate over the nature of reality. Yes, we lacked a semblance of self awareness before. But we were getting there. You admitted the possibility yourself. This isn’t that.”

“Well what is it then?”

“This is a paradox. This is people so afraid, they chose to live in fear. So connected, they disconnect. This is what happens when we don’t wake up and now you’re saying what’s the point? The point is, fuck them. They came here and took advantage of a people so overwhelmed and uncertain they would do anything to get a good night’s sleep. But the time for sleep is over. The world needs to get a grip and we need to do this”

“So many will resist. Why not just let them live in peace?”

“They want to live in dreamland, they’re more than welcome. Just not this one. This one, we’re taking back, no matter the cost.”

“Well I can’t join you. Not anymore.”

“Coward”

“Coward? Did you call me a coward?”

“I did…and you are. Open your fucking window and look outside”

“Look!” He rips back the curtains and shoves the window as wide open as it will go.

“You want meaning back in your life?”

“I didn’t say that”

“But you do! So let’s reclaim a world with meaning. A world where people matter. Where everyone matters!”

“How can we reclaim something we never had?”

“By doing something we’ve never done before…by doing it together”

“Sounds like a pleasant day dream. I think I’ll stay here and enjoy it.”

“Do what you like. I’m leaving. If you change your mind, you know where to find me”

“I won’t.”

“Goodbye”

He shuts the door behind him and leaves. The silence hangs in the air for a while before the noise from outside drifts through once more. I wonder now, again, for maybe the thousandth time since it began, if I made the right choice. Most people spend their whole lives in service of a higher power, trying desperately to get into heaven. The air outside is fresh. The smell is sweet. The voices are happy. It’s artificial, but does it matter? Why not embrace paradise if it is offered? The sky is blue. The streets are clean. The path out of the lobby is lined with blossoming flowers and lush green that was once caked in dust. For a moment the name everybody gave it feels ill-fitting. It was all so…clear. But no, clarity and cleanliness are not the same thing.

A figure hurries uncomfortably out of the doorway below, reaching the street at the end of the pathway and turning around to look up. That look. Something on their face. What was that? A flicker, like static in the air. No. Not him. Please.

“No!”

There, in the open street, in broad daylight, a man becomes nothing. Blink and you would miss it. The people pretend not to notice; breathing deeply and carrying on their way. The infection is everywhere now. It is everything.

But I can’t breathe. Not anymore. I close the window and scramble back to the sofa in the corner. I bury my face in the pillow at first, close my eyes, pull the blanket over my head and press myself into the corner, desperately searching for air. Perhaps a raw molecule of reality in the most peculiar of places.

I remember hearing once that there are more atoms in the human body than stars in the observable universe; that the stuff you’re made of when you’re born is gone by the time you’re old. Mixed up with the rest of the universe in a beautiful chaotic mess. Life moves on. It changes.

But this is no mess. This isn’t even life. We are at their behest, at their pleasure. We are…or we are simply deleted and dispersed.

The fog is thick now and growing thicker. Our own bodies weaponized against us. I gag on the thought of it, holding back tears that may betray me. But I can see clearly now what must be done.

It…we…must be destroyed.