Prompt
One day, in the very early morning hours, a strange, bluish fog rolls in. It floats low to the ground and is incredibly dense and incredibly cold. Anyone who inhales even a single breath from this fog will be met with a sudden, harsh sensation of sadness. It’s the worst part of the holidays—the Holiday Blues. The fog slowly spreads through the town and is gone by mid afternoon, but the sensation of sadness, loneliness, and nostalgia may linger for longer than that. Scientists are explaining the bluish tint as just being a natural phenomenon, but in Destiny City, ‘natural’ isn’t really something anyone should expect. Today would have been a good day to stay inside.
(WC: 1,111)
It was cold as balls but straying from his routine usually meant welcoming chaos in for the rest of the day and Paul needed routine in his life. No morning exercise meant spending the first several hours in the house with pent up energy, pacing the carpet and tile like a caged tiger. Cleaning only expelled so much energy and with the recent amount of snow the city had been suffering under, he'd been cooped up too many goddamn times and the house was starting to look a little too goddamn clean because of it.
He wasn't some housebitch but ******** all if it didn't look like he played the part.
When he stepped outside, the sun itself hadn't bothered to give a ******** and rise, still slumbering beyond the horizon. The street lamps were on, allowing the large man to see the wisps of his own breath as he exhaled, fingers already growing numb as he leaned down to ensure the tightness of his laces.
It was easy enough to ignore the frigid temperature as he began to run, mindful to peer through the shadows at the ground in front of him for any signs of slick patches on the sidewalk. He knew it was stupid to be out there - only ********' idiots bothered running in this weather - but buying a gym membership seemed frivolous and unnecessary as hell and until the day came that he fell flat on his a** or twisted his ankle because of Mother Nature, he'd resign himself to running in the neighborhood and lifting weights in his basement.
Twenty minutes into the jog (one too many almost moments had him slowing his pace), the sun finally decided to show itself. Streaks of orange and red lit up the morning sky and with it came a thick cloud of fog that began to stretch out across the neighborhood. It looked eerie as ********, a strange blue tint in color and a thickness that screamed run away, but...it was just fog, right? Maybe some science-y bullshit could explain the color change, maybe it had something to do with the frost - ******** if he knew what.
Fog was fog, it was simple as that.
As he ran through it, though, he immediately noticed the thickness of the weather almost blocked out the brightness of the sun peeking around the tall, two-story houses on the other side of the street. It was cold, even more frigid than the already low temperature, and the man had to stop to gather his bearings. It didn't feel right, s**t, he didn't want to look like some p***y but ******** if weird s**t hadn't been happening around anyways so it just made sense to turn around and call it a quick run for the morning. Nodding his head to himself, he turned with a squeak of his shoe and began in the other direction.... but not before taking in a long, satisfying inhale.
The chill of the fog didn't leave Paul as he began to run away from it, back towards the safety and security of his home. His hands were almost shivering from the effect but his mind was elsewhere, drawn away to the oddly familiar feeling the chill brought with it.
There was another winter, when he'd felt this cold before.
Old blankets, stolen blankets, thrift store purchased blankets had been piled on top of each other in an attempt to keep his sorry a** warm when the power had been turned off to his apartment. He hadn't been able to pay the bills, not when he'd scraped what money he could from odd jobs to cover rent and the obscene amount of alcohol that also had failed to keep him warm at night.
Cold hands had rubbed together at the early morning hours of four or five - after the bars had kicked him out and there'd been no girl to go home with at Last Call. He knew he'd forgotten to pay something - the mail that came through the slot was shoved away with all the others, unopened and piled into its own shoddy mountain of paperwork on a side table he never cared to organize. Would have to pick up a job or two to pay the overdue fee, get the lights and water turned back on. Couldn't ask Mom for help, she was too sick and dealing with her own s**t. Couldn't ask Noah, kid was barely making ends meet himself and like ******** would he want to see his face right then...
He'd finished off what Jack Daniel's he'd had left in an attempts to chase the warm, burning tingle and see himself through for the rest of the night.
Thoughts of the desperation, the loneliness, the utter despair of knowing he was useless - useless and alone in the world - had hit hard and the feelings were finding their way back to the surface, festering into his thoughts. <******** could feel his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he tried so hard, so hard, to banish the unwanted thoughts from his head. The knowledge that his mother had passed and there had been nothing he could have done to help her. Knowing he'd ******** things up with Noah to an astronomical proportion that the man wasn't even talking to him anymore. The endless number of bottles and bags of take-out that littered his apartment, the only sign that some miserable son of a b***h was still lingering around, filling the useless flesh void mistaken for a human body. Worthless, he was worthless and... and what had changed?
If Noah hadn't cleaned him up and put his life back on track, he would be right back where he was. Or dead, ha, he'd be dead in an apartment somewhere, probably with that heat turned off too.
God - who was to say he'd gained any worth at all, between then and now? Putting pearls on a pig didn't change the fact that it was a damn hog wearing them. <********. s**t. He was still worthless at the end of the day, wasn't he?
When he finally managed to make it back home, his mind was swarming with unwanted memories while cold, miserable feelings tightened around his heart, refusing to let him forget how it felt to be all alone over the winter holiday. How he could be right back to being just as alone, if the ginger suddenly decided he wasn't worth the ******** effort.
As his hand twisted the knob to the front door, his shoulders slumped and he trudged his way inside.
Perhaps he should have said <******** it to the morning run after all.
