He took one more step, ending at the peak of the grassy knoll. Views from every angle, showing long, grassy fields that rolled on forever, or so it seemed. Fog was rolling in, with the efficiency of a Roman battalion, smothering everything that it touched, eating away at the earth and replacing all beauty, light and hope with clones of itself. It slowly edged closer, a few trees in a moment. He sighed. The warm breath glided upwards, forming a small cloud of its own, steaming the small spectacles perched on the nose. A large, pale hand reached up, slowly removing the spectacles from the man's nose, before wiping them with a small piece of faded fabric. The eerie silence was broken by a loud huffing sound alongside the inevitable sound of a heavy bag.
"About damn time you got here son." Whispered the man.
The small not whimpered "Sorry dad, I got distracted…" The man moved uncomfortably. "Sorry son. I shouldn't have been like that."
The small boy walked forward a few steps, taking in the full view of the rolling fog. The slight smile melted into a face of fear. The man stood beside him, staring at the incoming cloud of confusion. "Yes. We're going into that." Was uttered, before the man took up pace once more, charging forward, ready to attack the unknown. The rolling clouds had reached the man - he took the first step into the grey confusion, speeding forward and climbing over rocks, weeds and other impurities in the landscape. The fog became like syrup, blocking the view of the man, preventing his progress. He checked his watch. 18:16. Yeah, it was time to put up the tent. As he dropped his bag to the floor, he realised something was missing.
"Boy? Son?" He said, not wanting to get worried. He raised his voice, "Son? Say something!"
An owl called out in the distance.
Then silence. Once again.
The man picked up his bag and began to run. He couldn't lose his son. He went in the direction he came. Or so he thought? He was going too fast to worry now. He needed to find his son. His boy. His world. Why hadn't he held onto him?
He continued, not stopping, shouting for his son.
Then he realised that he was damp. He had run too far. Too fast. His heavy bag weighed him down. He was gone.