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Pitch black smoke curled slowly up her legs then up around her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. It was heavy, thick and greasy, she couldn’t move from under it. There was a presence to this smoke, a chilling agenda. Growing thicker, it began to twist around her middle, up her torso, squeezing her lungs and moving to her neck.
She panted desperately. She was being suffocated, drowned by this filthy mass. She tried to struggle but didn’t have the strength, tried to scream but didn’t have the air, tried to cry but didn’t have the tears.
She was so tired, so cold. She couldn’t go on. She would just let it take her, it would be so much easier to just stop fighting. The smoke seemed to sense her weakness. It shuddered with anticipation and quickened in its movement. The blackness beck
