Fog 9-20-16

Michelle's prompt: Michelle sent this photograph:

Adam's poem:

Albert Sloke awoke to find his bedroom thick with fog. “I cannot see the dog,” he said. “Barely can I see my bed.” He wondered as he blundered toward the bedroom’s only door, “The forecast called for more clear skies. Perhaps last night it was revised.” Fumbling blindly, Albert finally made it to a sink. It was difficult to think or speak. The seconds dripped like plumbing leaks. He did his best to dress, and shave, and feed the hungry dog. Almost numb the fog had made him. Arms and legs felt heavy laden. The churning mist persisted on the street outside his door. Terribly unsure he felt. The dog tugged on the leash and yelped. A friendly voice rejoiced exclaiming, “What a glorious day!” “Sounds like Mrs. Gray,” Sloke mused. Her words had left him quite confused. “But…” he stuttered. Then he muttered, “What about the fog?” His neighbor must have jogged away, For nothing further did she say. Then he heard absurdities surrounding him like flies. Voices said, “The sky’s so clear!” And “Quite the lovely weather here!” The vapor furled and curled around Sloke’s ankles like a snake. “Surely a mistake,” he thought. He stood there rooted to the spot. His hand released the leash. The dog then disappeared. “It's as I've always feared,” he said. “I'm either obsolete or dead.”