Prologue

This was written for the latest Poetic Infusion Society Contest.

Prologue


    More than anything else, I remember the mist.  I now don’t know why, but I remember it more plainly than anything else from my childhood.  The way it stiflingly surrounded me securing everything else from my sight.  Thick and tauntingly it hung still in the cold marsh that morning.
    I don’t remember now why I was there.  What purpose such a young child had in that place?  Or even how I came to be there.  It’s dark allure was easily attractive to an untrained mind.  One that has not yet been taught of the cold, wicked ways of those who reside there, or even why their ways are said to wicked.  But surely I had someone to protect me from the marsh…too much of the mist remains in my mind as well, it seems.
    I also remember the feeling.  The one drawing me through that cloud of confusion, and yet offering so much comfort and warmth all the while.  The feeling that insured me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was safe, and would remain unharmed on my journey.  A feeling of the coming truth.  The answers that lay on the other side of the mist, in the land it opens up beyond the marshes.  
    Did I ever reach the other side?  And if so, what happened to me there in the years since that child entered the mysterious mist that stole my youth, my purpose, and every memory except for these?  And will I ever come to know?
    Perhaps the answer lies within the mist, which is drawing back to the marshes this very day.  For the first time, I’m told, since the days that would have been those of my youth.  And even though, this time, I have no feeling of warmth and assured safety radiating out to me from within the mist’s depths, I still know that I must go.  I must try.  That is now, my only certainty.

Reviews

[ganymeder]

I really liked this. I keep getting the idea of the mist as a psychological thing, keeping us from seeing what we would see otherwise if it weren't there. Is the mist a good thing or a bad thing? Does it protect us from unwelcome truths or keep us from finding our way.

I didn't get the Stephen King feel from it the other poster did. I keep seeing it as a philosophical embodiment, like Moby Dick wasn't really just a whale. Does that make sense?

Do you plan to add more to this? I'm intrigued. :)

[Charles]

I really enjoyed this. I got a Stephen Kingish kind of feeling, reading about the mist and wondering what hides in there. There is great imagery in this piece. It held my interest throughout. Great job...