The Fog Catchers 009
Seven days later I’m waiting here, alone. It’s three in the morning. Darkness. No moon. And not yet dawn. The fog hasn’t arrived yet.
They say to never be up on the roof, not when the fog rolls in. All the crews say that, all the old guys. No fog on the skin.
It’s meant to be dangerous, unhealthy. Makes you crazy. So many stories, rumours. But here I am. Waiting. Waiting for the mist…
We did some searching, but the last week has brought nothing good, re the code. Only a few purchasers to follow, leading to dead ends.
I see it now, the fog. Grey curls, tendrils, black mass at the centre. It’s gathering at the estate’s edge. Creeping onwards.
I’ll bet it’s not another crew, stealing images. It can’t be. Freelancers, probably. Maybe selling onto somebody rich.
But why? The question remains.
I don’t care. They stole from us. They hurt us. Whatever they want, I want it too. I want it before them. So I’m here. I’m waiting…
The fog approaches. A cloud of lost forms. Almost alive, sparkling with colours, flashes of light. Here it comes!