The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 11:15:48 -

The Pale Mist

The fog did not lift. It thickened. I walked. My boots crunched on the gravel. The sound was sharp. It cut the air. I carried my briefcase. It was heavy. Not with papers. With years. My back ached. A dull, persistent ache. It lived in the spine. It had lived there for a decade. My name is Arthur. I was a clerk. I sat at a desk. I stamped documents. I filed reports. I was invisible. I was...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews