The fog rolled in with deceptive speed. Appearing, at first, to slowly swallow homes and streetlights whole from the neighborhood across the way before creeping across the tumbleweed choked field. Within moments the heavy mists had devoured the apartment complex where Morgan St James sat watching the world descend into the depths of some mist-composed leviathan from his second story balcony.
A heavy silence carried itself in the belly of the beast. Wresting from the air every drunken scream, rocket screech, and gunshot ushering in the new year. Morgan shifted uncomfortably in the damp camping chair suddenly aware of the unnatural silence. It was as if the world had vanished in a cold snap leaving him completely alone with his thoughts.
“You owe him that much!” Pastor Richard had shouted before Morgan hung up the phone. News of his father’s suicide sat sour in his chest. Left him fighting an invisible war behind glazed eyes and a distant stare. He hardly noticed the chill biting deep into his bones.
A bottle of amber liquid rose and fell from his lips with unconscious automation. Each gulp a reprieve burning a trail down his throat and settling in his gut. For a moment, the bottle hesitated on the rise. Hovered before his lips to let pass the only words he had left.
“Good riddance, asshole.”