It starts with a drop; like dye in water, it spreads. First deliberately and powerful, clouding all vision as it’s tendrils spread to every facet of its vessel. After a time, though, it settles. Clarity returns, a false veneer of cleanliness. A return to normalcy that fools those who did not witness the original poisoning. A lie. It waits, patiently, until it’s presence is forgotten by the outside world, by those who know no better. Yet the mist hangs low still, showing it’s gnarled face in the dead hours, populated only by those who partake in its feast willingly. Yes it waits, like the wildcat just out of sight, until that moment. Opportunity. The transaction in which peace is traded for a few fleeting moments of reprieve; to scratch an itch that has buried itself for so long, constantly felt but never seen. All sight goes red. Senses dulled but to one point. Fingers hot from the innumerable seconds of pent up pressure. Hearing gone but for the drum that that numbs the world around, giving rhythm to the muscles that ache to be flexed. A thought, a most precious thought, squeezes into the void between the ears, whispering sweet vengeance and relishing the brutality. And just like that, it’s gone. Buried once more. The water remains dyed, but the shade has grown more transparent. Unseen, unheard. What was once is once again. Life carries on. But the roots of the seed are strong. Opportunity will knock once more. Motivation, imagination, rumination. Stop.