fog
I don’t remember how I got out of the gallery that night. One moment, Jack’s grip was cold and unrelenting, his words sinking into my mind like poison. The next, I was stumbling through the streets, gasping for air, my vision blurred with panic. The city around me was distorted, a chaotic blur of headlights and shadows. Nothing felt real anymore, like I was floating between two worlds—one I knew, and another I feared. The sounds of the night—sirens, the hum of passing cars—were muffled, distant. My own footsteps felt disconnected from my body, echoing through my mind as I ran, as if I were trapped in some kind of dream. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care. I just needed to get away from the suffocating presence of Jack, from that twisted gallery, from the truth I wasn’t ready
- Writer
