One morning it comes and blankets the places we live. Some curse it, but for others it's a miracle.

" A blanket of fog," I said to myself. It enveloped me the minute I set foot into the street; all I remember is stepping outside. For, after a moment's hesitation, I plunged into a thick fog. I was like a ship sailing through the mist, visibility zero. Nothing was discernible but the tip of the prow. Wondering where I was going and what lay ahead of me, I shut down the engines and only continued on my way after first screwing up my courage. Did I know these roads? Perhaps... If 'knowing' was the power that propelled me along, then where were the people I knew? Were they walking down other streets? No sound was audible, not even the chirp of a bird... They too were frightened by the dense fog. Was it fear that turned us all deaf and dumb? Would the fog take us captive if we spoke? Had I become one of Kafka's 'lost souls'? Would the curtain of fog part some ways ahead?