Thousand: Six Hundred Thirty-Eight

this door open, what will happen. The fog will roll out into the hall. You won’t be able to see where you are. Where will it stop. Will it swallow the world. The girl leans her head against the door. Can’t hear anything in there. No draft coming out. Try again. Go find the overseer. The overseer will know what to do. She’s the one opening the boxes, letting the fog out. Maybe she’s lost in the fog herself. Maybe maybe maybe. Who knows what’s going on. Right. Not me, the girl thinks, even managing a chuckle at the thought.