She woke up early this morning. After ending things with her partner of 4 years last night, she just wanted to get a fresh start to the day. He told her he wasn’t ready to lose her, but she couldn’t convince herself to stay. Sometimes, you just no longer feel for that person that’s been next to you in bed for so long.

As she walks down the path, goosebumps raise the hair on her arms from the cool, damp air. Foggy mornings like this make her so happy that she ended up in the PNW. Marshes are something she’s always had fond feelings for ever since she was a little girl. Her father used to take her out every Saturday morning to watch the herons fly out for the day. Sometimes, they’d come back in the evenings to welcome the herons back in. The sound of their wings tucking into place for the night and their bills clapping together bring back the best feelings.

People get tired But life just goes on People get bored****

**But life just goes on ** **People get ruined ** **But life just goes on **

Some come Some go **And some ** **We never know **

**This path gets walked on ** **But it still goes on ** **This path gets rained on ** **But it still goes on ** **This path gets forgotten ** **But it still goes on **

**Some come ** Some go **And some ** **We never know **

“Fuck that” She spat. As if the words tasted bad in in her mouth.

“ you let him out you should go find him.” She reasoned.

“ why can’t you just help me look for Frankie? You don’t even have to think of it as searching for our lost dog just go for a walk with me Anna.”

And crossed her arms, leaned back on one hip and raised one eyebrow before saying.

“ why would I wanna go outside right now? It looks terrible out there.”

For how strong Anna’s personality is, she can be pretty soft about some things.

“ it’s not even really raining out there it’s just foggy.” I reported to her.

“ Amber. I’m having a nice little morning. I am in my PJs and my coffee is ready. I am on vacation and I don’t want to walk in the mud and search through the brush for YOUR dog.”

“ Frankie is our dog Anna!”

Frankie was a gift from our parents, but he definitely became my dog more than Anna‘s dog. But only because I had spent more time with him Anna it’s just busier than me with work in school and all her friends she wasn’t around as much as I was during Frankie‘s puppy years . I just didn’t get out as much as her so Frankie and I spent a lot of time together. I was mostly the one feeding him and taking him for walks.

Deep down, though on an unspoken level, I know that animals consent people‘s characters or aura’s something like that. And not that Anna has bad energy around her. It’s just that maybe Frankie could sense more chaotic spirits around her or maybe her rough edges. Frankie is a bit of a shy animal, very sensitive and gentle so that’s maybe why he would gravitate more towards me.

Anna just stared me down and protest to debate any further. Finally, she says matter-of-factly.
“ well if it’s just fog, make sure to take your raincoat. It could rain at anytime.” Matching her tone I say “ enjoy your coffee if I’m not back by dark tell someone.” In a rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen to be with her coffee.

It did seem pretty damp out there. It definitely did rain earlier, but now the visible threat of rain is hanging heavy and low in the thick fog.

I put on my black River rain boots because who knows what mess Frankie is going to have me go through. Also suiting up with my yellow raincoat and red wool toque. I look like a sticker or some brand mascot for something salty or nautical, which isn’t too out of place on the English coast.

I grabbed some of Frankie‘s favorite treats, bacon, flavored dog cookies still in the package, of course. The opening of the cookie bag is the most powerful sound to summon my dog, stubborn body and spirit. Normally, this isn’t an issue at home Frankie always goes out without a leash in an unfeed yard, but we are visiting aunt tabby, and and her area is new and unknown to Frankie, so I could have guessed he would take it upon himself to make the unknown known to him and his curious nose.

I open the front door to be faced with a wall of mist. If I didn’t know any better, it could have been a wall of snow. This fog was particularly white and thick not so much. It’s typical gray and dreary pallet. Most of the land here is flat farmland, some very small rolling hills in the distance, but for the most part, it was not complicated terrain there was a small patch of wooded area, but nothing anyone or any dog could get lost in .

My shoes make a quiet sound every time they hit the old, cracked concrete path I walk on. I twist my lips in annoyance as the overgrown grass hits my ankles now and then causing them to itch. The ghost-gray mist blankets the ground creating a haziness over the dead grass and weeds.

The sky above me is dim and gloomy as clouds consume the sun's rays. I tighten the red zip-up jacket around me as I continue to walk. Trees surround the open field along with old houses. One is my childhood home.

I didn't have the guts to go back in. At least, not when my parent's memorial is happening. The family had decided to have it in the place they were happiest in. Which is funny, because they made that house my nightmare. The constant screaming and slamming of doors. The holes that sat in the walls that were so old the wallpaper had started to peel off. The broken doors that were kicked in and never got fixed.

I shiver as a slow breeze blows. The tops of trees sway in the distance and I sigh at the tranquility. My parents loved each other, but they were tragic. They loved each other, but not enough to leave. Not enough to save me from seeing the brokenness that seeped through their own lives and eventually bleed into mine. I hate them for raising me in that environment. Yet I love them because they are my parents.

Were. They were my parents.

Even now, I can't let them go. I haven't spoken to them in years. I haven't been back to this house in almost a decade. Which is funny, because I still feel trapped here. Trapped in that house. Trapped hearing the screaming and fighting. Therapy hasn't helped. One therapist suggested I come back but that was years ago and I never did.

I'm here now though.

The sky has become darker and the mist has amplified causing an eerie feeling to settle over me. This place has always felt weird. I catch a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye when I near the house.

She had long dark hair, braided into a crown around her small head. Her bleak pale skin blended into the mist. It was me. I was sitting on the small concrete pathway humming to myself as I scribbled on the ground with chalk. I looked to be around eight. I remember this day. It was when one of the worst arguments happened. Mom and Dad got into another fight and he threw a glass vase at her. I ran inside and found her on the ground bleeding with him bent down at her side profusely apologizing.

I walk closer and a small stick from one of the trees must have fallen onto the pathway because I hear a crunch come from under my foot. The little girl's head shoots up and she stares me down before smiling gently.

"It's okay," she said. Pushing off the ground with her hands and then dusted off the dirt that had collected on her long blue skirt. The white blouse was stained with blood but it didn't seem to bother her. "You can let go now."

I was too stunned to speak back for a moment. I stood still, letting the breeze blow my hair behind me. Blowing open the unzipped jacket that I had wrapped around me earlier. My arms dangled at my side and I processed what she said. I looked down for a second before lifting my head back up but the little girl had already walked off. She walked further and further into the field opposite to the house till the mist became too thick and she disappeared.

I go to follow in her path but Aunt Sheril's heels clicked on the rotted wood of the porch as she walked out of the door and over towards me. "Are you coming back inside?"

I nodded wordlessly and followed her back into the house, but not before taking a quick look towards the field where the girl disappeared. I now stand in front of the antique vases that hold my parents' ashes feeling a little lighter. Letting go of the trauma this house has brought me. That they raised me in. Finding forgiveness. Allowing the small child that still exists in me to be healed.

I walk on this path Everyday

I see that lamppost Everyday

And it rains here Everyday

Yet it still slays here Everyday

And It stays here Everyday

And the rizzler never goes away

The dusty grey clouds surround the forboding path as only silence prevails in the area. None dare to walk down this path because of an old legend of which there once was a brave man who new every path in town until he saw this path. Everyone in the town frantically started questioning him for how he did not know this path. The man couldn’t this himself for he had no clue either. The very next day he set out on his way to understand and memorise the path so that none can question him again. He walked on for what seemed forever as the slow breeze brushes against his hair but on he went.

Hours passed but there was no sign of him everyone in the town guessed that he left the town in embarresment. From that day people chose to go explore it themselves but just like the brave man they never came back. Conspiricies grew on about what happened to the people who vanished when they went down the path. Until, everyone was too terified to go down the path everyone left the area in fear of knowing that something is wrong in that area. All the people know now about the path is the fact that it just looks too scary to go down. They all just avoid it and enjoying the rest of their lives without knowing its true nature.

Pushing ever forward Yet somehow never making ground The path we walk is perilous Crumbling in our wake But the views My god, the views!

You could call us reckless travelers And maybe you’d be right Indifferent to the danger ahead Forgetful of the ruin that lies behind Caring only for the moment And the company

Everything is a path To what, we do not know There is a beauty in unknowing but a sadness also resides Sadness because we all want to go someplace that most of us never reach A beauty because the hope of that place invokes a will to continue We must smile at the sadness like life smiles at death Understanding all we can do is continue and find joy wherever that path takes

A tiled path goes through the mist Where it goes we’ll never know For those who take it don’t come home Perhaps it leads into a village One where lost people find there rest If that is so maybe I should go For I don’t know where home is And if I go and find this village It could be my home to rest

is there a figure that follows, or a beast whom awaits? there’s no passion in this life, i can obtain, so why does fear, still control my brain.