A Winter's Commute

This morning, we tucked ourselves safely into cars and trucks. We turned on our radios, our defrosters, our headlights.We drove with precision and cautious eyes as we accelerated slowly into the soft mist that blanketed our morning commute with humid drops of water and dust, particles of percipitation, particles of hardly anything at all. Our headlights packed the roads safely showing us the way in the ever present fog that pressed itself so heavily against the widows, we felt inexorably penetrated within the safety of our shell of steel. Everything was moist and serene, everything was a glistening, bleak hue of nothing, everything was muted and faded. We traveled and turned as if this were any other day, until, one by one, each glinting headlight drifted off too far ahead, dipping out of existence, dropping into a deep, gray abyss unreachable by any means. It was as though, suddenly, they discovered a great, ominous cliff lurking in the distance, a giant escarpment waiting to open and snatch them away, a being they couldn't avoid.

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