A challenging Sunday Photo Fiction this week — at least for me. But that just makes it more enjoyable, testing a writer’s skill to see what they can come up with. With that, off we go into a thickening fog that is quickly consuming everything our eyes perceive.
As the fog swallowed the bridge, the waters calmed. The waves that had been slapping the shoreline were now simply pawing at the sand that warmed Johnny’s toes.
He dug them deeper before he turned to Jules.
“So, what do you think?”
She glanced at him and then looked away, staring somewhere into the fog that now enveloped the Atlantic Coastline as far as the two could see.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I know it’s not much of a response, but it’s the only one I have now.”
Johnny let out a soft sigh — something between frustration and resignation.
He put his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. She shrugged him off.
“I love you, Johnny,” she said. “But it’s not the right time.”
The fog had sifted its way ashore, lapping at Johnny’s toes, Jules’s sandals.
Johnny said nothing. Instead, he watched the fog climb his legs, swirl around his midsection. His eyes followed as it climbed Jules’s bare legs, for she was standing now. Soon, its density had grown so thick, he couldn’t see her.
From somewhere not close, he heard her.
“Bye, Johnny,” her fading voice said. “I won’t forget you.”