Crimson's Musings

The hair on the back of my neck rose as I left the parking lot. My work day had begun kissed by fog and was ending in much the same fashion, though the kiss seemed to have progressed to a something more. So thick was the fog that visibility was born from the breath that swallowed light - my pulse began to race.

Imagination creates sleight of hand, I see movement and apparitions that aren’t there. Distraction, like a stiff drink, I crave. I find the radio, but only hear static.

Pops. Sizzles. Faint voices.

I shiver.

My day started off like ‘The Mist’ but ended with ‘Silent Hill ll’. I have the radio…but my Goddess, where’s my stick with the nail? At least I’m in the van and not on foot, it’s something so Pyramid Head doesn’t get me.

- Just Call Me James