An old man walked down the alley, taking long, deliberate strides. Fog gathered around his ankles, its gray color matching the senescent man, the buildings, sky, sun, and nearly everything else about his muted surroundings. He paused in his step, letting the fog swirl around him as he turned slowly, calling out into the thick mist.
“You forget that you’re not invisible in the mist, Coleman,” he chuckled softly, extending a hand into the gray mist.
“To everyone else, maybe I am, old man,” a younger voice said, stepping into view. “It’s only you who can catch me.”
“I wish that weren’t the case,” said the old man. “I’m the last one left who remembers what this place was like before the fogs. Everyone else is either dead or Harvested — only reason I’m still walkin’s ‘cause I made myself useful. Soon as I get this here leg busted up, it’s over for me.”
Here Coleman fidgeted in his place, which the old man found mildly amusing. Even after all these years, people still managed to elude any kind of logic he could think of. He supposed that was their own brand of logic. Why could Coleman, after all he had done, feel sympathy for a senile old fool clinging onto life? Humans, as he had often thought, were ever so predictable but always seemed to surprise you just as you thought you had figured them out. He continued drifting off into his thoughts, when he was shaken awake by the voice of his friend.
“You there, Ben?”
“I’m here. Just an old fool lost in his own world again,” Ben said, closing his eyes and feeling the cool air brush across his old and hardened face. “The last of his kind.”
“You forget that you’re not invisible in the mist, Coleman,” he chuckled softly, extending a hand into the gray mist.
“To everyone else, maybe I am, old man,” a younger voice said, stepping into view. “It’s only you who can catch me.”
“I wish that weren’t the case,” said the old man. “I’m the last one left who remembers what this place was like before the fogs. Everyone else is either dead or Harvested — only reason I’m still walkin’s ‘cause I made myself useful. Soon as I get this here leg busted up, it’s over for me.”
Here Coleman fidgeted in his place, which the old man found mildly amusing. Even after all these years, people still managed to elude any kind of logic he could think of. He supposed that was their own brand of logic. Why could Coleman, after all he had done, feel sympathy for a senile old fool clinging onto life? Humans, as he had often thought, were ever so predictable but always seemed to surprise you just as you thought you had figured them out. He continued drifting off into his thoughts, when he was shaken awake by the voice of his friend.
“You there, Ben?”
“I’m here. Just an old fool lost in his own world again,” Ben said, closing his eyes and feeling the cool air brush across his old and hardened face. “The last of his kind.”