A/N: Wow, I haven't been on here for ages. This is really short, so sorry. About Cindersmella: i forgot it existed. Again, I'm sorry. Review or PM to yell at me, I won't mind. This one-shot isn't about anyone in particular, so y'know, imagine it's your favorite character in and AU or something. I might take it and develop it into a story with characters and everything, but then again, i may not. It depends what you think.
Fog
He was trapped. He couldn't think; the acrid fog clouded his mind almost as much as it clouded his vision. He couldn't breathe; it was reaching into his lungs, forcing the air out of them and suffocating him. It was as if the clouds, grey and monotonous somewhere above him, had sunk to the ground. It was as if he'd been dropped in a mirror maze made entirely of frosted glass and he couldn't find his way out, stumbling around like a blindfolded child searching for a piñata. It snaked around his ankles, curling over the cold ground in spiraling dull eddies and rendering his senses moot.
Why was he here? More importantly, where was here? He remembered… nothing. His mind was blank. He couldn't even remember his name. Did he even have a name? Who was he? He eased himself into a wobbly stand, stumbling slightly as the smog threatened to flood his brain again. He took a raspy breath; clearing his throat in the same way he wished he could clear his mind. He stretched his fingers ahead of him. Thin, black gloves covered his hands, leaving his fingers bare and vulnerable to the biting cold that shadowed the murk. He exhaled, his breath adding to the pale yet heavy miasma around him.
He told himself he couldn't see shapes in the corners of his eyes, shifting and morphing into larger and stranger forms. He told himself he couldn't hear scratching, padded somethings, or shaky rattling breaths behind him. He didn't feel the dark eyes bearing into his back, because they simply weren't there. They weren't . They couldn't be. He distracted himself, trying to recall anything about his life. It didn't help. Though he tried to remember something, anything about himself, he drew a blank slate and the niggling sensation that he was being watched, or rather, followed, returned.
A light. A shining beacon, far away, no more than an inch wide from his perspective, blinking a reassuring soft blue that dispelled the fog in his mind, if not in the distance between himself and his metaphorical savior. At least, he hoped it would save him-clear away the dark like scissors at fabric. Of course, he could be wrong. It could be some vast monstrosity that would lure him close enough for him to see looming sharp teeth or dagger-like claws before swallowing him whole-or worse-chewing; the only sound filling the air the sound of something ripping that wasn't fabric and-
No. He had to stay positive. Optimistic. He could do that- If the blinking blue light was a hideous monster, then he wouldn't be able to remember who it was the beast was killing. That was a plus, right? He edged closer to the light, and it grew brighter, and shadow-clotted hiding places previously obscured by fog became harmless nooks and crannies. The beasts he was sure weren't behind him- they weren't- fell away, hiding themselves in the fog that he was leaving behind him. The light smiled down at him like it was the angel of luck, or life, or whatever force had granted him passage through the darkness. He was safe. He was free.