Gris Lee Stories

I held my arms crossed together as I slowly, reluctantly trudged forwards. The space around me was obscured in a shadowy fog. It created a thick enough cover so that I couldn’t tell how far away the horizon was. However, in patches it showed just enough of the outside world. The way it wavered, it distorted what I saw. Within the haze I couldn’t determine what was safe and what was a threat. I couldn’t tell who was friend or who was foe. When seen in one light they appeared trusting, speaking softly, touching gently. In another they growled, clawing at my skin, everything decaying under their touch. Sometimes the fog smelled sweet, filling my lungs with a breath of clarity. Sometimes it squeezed the life from them, glaring into my subconscious as I struggled to think, to breathe. There were times I wanted to stop. I didn’t want to look back at the memories that I no longer knew were good or bad. I didn’t want to look forward at the future that couldn’t cement a promise of fortune...

Well, here’s an oddly pleasant surprise. Finally, I see something shifting in the small clearing just a short distant ahead. I try to tread gently over in my heavy combat boots. A few leaves and twigs crunch under the sheer weight of them, but luckily the sound doesn’t catch the attention of the thing nearby. With some less than graceful manoeuvring I shamble behind one of the rotting trees on the edge of the clearing. I place my gloved hands upon it. Even without the roughness of my grip some of the bark flimsily snaps off just by brushing against it. Luckily I’m not one to flinch easily so I steel myself to peer around the tree. My head moves less than an inch before I’m paralysed by a flash of images needling the back of my mind. Every scratch, the lack of breath, the smell of decay conjures up a distorted image of…something. Against my own judgement I’ve gotten accustomed to my boring, dare I say, ‘normal’ life in Mistwell. Normally you couldn’t stop my behaviour but give...