Day 270

First comes the cold, the kind that winds under your clothes and into your bones.

Then the fog comes rolling in swathes, suffocating the city streets.

Everyone will panic and wait anxiously inside.

They will all miss the danger.

Those who remain outside - the lost souls and waifs - will be the forerunners.

It will seep into them, the cold fog of forgetting and they will succumb one by one.
They will be left empty husks of their former selves.

Now roaming the streets becomes a death sentence.
Humans will prey upon humans til the fog learns to open.
And it learns so fast.

For there are many outside, both living and dead.
And they are eager to speak once again.