The mist that blanketed the forest was perfect for the grey people who lived underneath. This was their time of day.
Most days I never saw them. They lived camouflaged and safe.
In my mind they were the shadows I saw in the forest, the movements in the corners of my eye, the lurking dread I felt as we rounded a corner in the middle of the night.
They never did anything to quell that notion of their fearsomeness. Like they thrived on my fear.
I knew they possessed a loathsomeness; their grey skin and scraggly hair, their stench and bad breath were all factors I exploited in promoting their obnoxiousness.
I wondered how they felt being dwellers in the mist. As the mist came down they moved about. Did they see the hideousness in each other or did they see attractions and desires, did they look at their opposite and feel their bits tingle, did they enjoy the moments when their gruesome bodies came together and from that a small grey being emerged which they nurtured and loved?
Today the mist was doubly thick and I sat above the valley watching the mist caress the valley below. Through the mist I knew they were moving about, doing what they do, content their lives had meaning and purpose.
I knew that when the mist cleared they would be gone. But they were always there in the forest shadows, in the recesses along the creeks and always just out of sight of the corner of my eye.