The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-18 03:31:20 -

He dreamed of the fog. It was thick. It tasted of rust. It tasted of old blood. He could not breathe. The air was solid. It pressed against his lungs. It squeezed them. He coughed. A black fluid came from his mouth. It was warm. It was wet. He looked down. His hands were red. The red spread. It climbed his wrists. It swallowed his elbows. He woke. The sheet was soaked. Cold. The room was dark....

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