Fog (revisited)

Fog (revisited) A sea of faces, familiar and stranger alike, milling endlessly through the room. Subdued quiet... is it respect for the dead, or just a mixture of fear and relief? Condolences come from all sides and she murmurs her acceptance. Her mind is deep in the fog, detached and unable as yet to accept the inevitable reality. Her son... gone! One instant vibrant and alive, the next, a statistic on the evening news. Tomorrow she would re-enact this final moment in her mind, and every tomorrow after that. Did he suffer? What were his final thoughts? What if she hadn't called him the night before with that stupid accusation? Was the argument his last memory of her? Later she sat alone on the edge of the bed, tears her only companions. Two years before her husband had lost his life on the ski slopes. And now her son. She had never felt so alone before... there had always been someone in her life. At last she sleeps... fitful, troubled... dark dreams invade her soul to add insult to injury. "Mrs. Jones... we're all so sorry." The little one came up to her desk. "We got together and got you these." He handed her a bunch of deep-red roses, the thorns stained with his own child-blood from holding the stems so desperately hard. "Thank you, Jimmy!" And she knew that she still had a purpose, and she was still needed in this world. 1-16-2002Thought that "Fog" needed a sequel. Written January 16th, 2002 © on Jan 16 2002 09:36 AM PST, Heinz Scheuenstuhl    0 • 12