When I was twelve my grandma gave me a necklace and promised me that one day I’d be faced with a powerful, destructive force that would never go away. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it was a pretty necklace. There was a charm on it, on the part that would lay on your chest. It had an engraving of some exotic bird, perched, resting, its eye closed.
“This world does not owe you anything, and it will take as much away from you as you allow it to”. That part I remember too, because it’s kind of a crazy thing to say to a twelve year old. She died a few months later.
I don’t remember crying at the funeral, because I don’t think she would’ve. That’s when I started wearing the necklace though, that’s when I realized it was important. If there’s such a thing as coincidences, they must mean something.
When I was 17 I worked nights at a coffee shop- that was their whole thing, a coffee shop that was open until 10pm. One night after I helped close, I walked outside into a wispy fog. It wasn’t dense, really, but it was potent. As I drove through it, I felt like it could have enveloped the whole city. A fallen cloud. I got the sense that things were watching me through the fog. “Things” is about as specific as I can really get, but they were just watching. Studying me driving that old blue car like they were going to be tested on it later. I felt compelled to roll down my windows.
It’s interesting that when you’re inside of the fog, you can’t tell. When another car comes at you, it looks completely enveloped, frantically trying to escape from its misty covers. I probably looked the same, just two beams of light trying to make it home.
With the windows rolled down, you become less of a machine, more of a traveller. You hear the road under you and the world around you and the wind hits you when you make a turn. I’ve always liked driving with the windows down. It never felt like I was letting in anything that didn’t belong. That night was different though.
At first it was just a shadow, creeping up the passenger seat, growing and shaping itself. It was easy to ignore, driving under street lights, focusing on the road ahead. But as more mist seeped inside, it grew. It detached itself from a shadow into a form, wisp and disconnected. This was what was watching me, studying me. The sections of mist shifted and solidified, and it was me, It flexed its fingers, a host getting used to its new body, and looked at me, faceless. Now I was on a clear stretch of road, a road I’d driven down countless times, but that now looked unrecognizable. Not that I was looking at the road. I couldn’t seem to turn away from this thing, part of the fog but entirely separate, becoming me. Slowly its face began to form, and I was smiling at myself. Or, it was smiling at me. It must have passed the test.
I didn’t see its hand move, but I felt it push against my chest. And then through it. It was cold, and foreign, and I was crying, and I felt the hand, or the imitation of a hand, wrap around my heart. I’d never been conscious of my heart before, but the mist curled around it and slowed its beating, imposing its will. And I lurched forward and I felt the car start to swerve, and then I woke up.
I didn’t remember getting home. Outside the fog was still dense, and it pushed against my window, asking to be let in. It was four in the morning. But I didn’t remember getting home. And my chest burned and my head was pounding and I sat up and I was in my bed. And next to the window, though I couldn’t see it, I was sure this thing was watching me. I was sure I hadn’t driven home.
I was still wearing the necklace, I dragged my finger across the engraving, the contours of that familiar bird. And its eye was open. I looked down at it and it looked back at me and it seemed to say, “You will never get a good nights sleep again”. I shivered, and the thing by the window seemed to shake too. I still couldn’t see it, but I was sure it was smiling.
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(idk if going back and forth from first to third person in different chapters is too jarring, but honestly maybe it doesn’t matter. I like the idea of Drew’s chapters being in first person, because this is their story)
(Also Oroan shouldn’t talk as much. I think that allows a bit more mystery of things, which is good because I’m still trying to remember/figure out what all of it means)
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today I am in my car and very unemployed. tomorrow will probably be the same (because it’s a holiday). tuesday or wednesday I think I’m giving up and living here for at least the rest of the summer. today I am the biggest failure ever. tomorrow will probably be the same. and probably that will not change until I finally kill myself. because that’s what success looks like, intention, desire, and action to match it.