Fog

I sleep fitfully.  Each night a fog descends.  Not a gentle fog with romantic mystique.  A polluted smog that obscures reality, gets caught in one’s throat, and feels like walking under a canopy of oiled brown paper.  It’s dense, humid, oppressive.  Somewhere in the distance a fox screams, or was it a human?  If it were shown on an antiquated map, the text “here be monsters” would be included, prompting the viewer to stay away. 

I don’t have that luxury.  Each night I am forced to navigate through this toxic smog.  Warding off my demons.  I walk alone through the cobbled streets of my mind, not knowing who, or what, is lurking for me in the gloom.  The gas lights are few and far between, the alleys dark and foreboding.  My weapons are scant and not as effective as they need to be.  Occasionally, I see a familiar face, only to be forced to bear witness to some ghastly event, created by one of the many demons lurking in the shadows of my mind.  

I’ve come to loathe the night.  The time when darkness falls over my mind palace and all of the unsavoury characters, usually hidden by the day light, get free reign.  Each night is a battle through the darkened streets trying to ward off all the undesirables, get through the streets as unscathed as possible, and pray that nothing returns with me to the morning.  The smog is sticky, smelly, and is able to leach into my clothing, my hair, my soul.  Sometimes I bring detritus back with me.  A lingering tightness in my chest, a caught fear in my throat, a voice echoing at the back of my mind, taunting me during my waking hours.  

I pray for clearer skies, fresh air, the ability to leave the cobbled streets for the open space of park land, with a light breeze.  I want to be able to look up and see the stars without fear of being pounced on.  I want to be able to enjoy the city in my mind at night, relish in the silence of deserted streets, listen to the sizzle of the gas lamps, and bask in the light from shop windows that spills down onto the streets, creating puddles of solace in an otherwise demented place. 

I’m already dreading the sunset.  Something I used to find such peace in, now fills me with an impending dread that starts down in my stomach before creating a tightness in my chest.  Maybe tonight will be better.  Perhaps this is the day I get a reprieve and a good night’s sleep, so that tomorrow I’m not exhausted and will have the strength to keep the demons at bay and not bring them back with me into the early morn light.