Flying in the dark, a straight line marks the surface of a blind depth. The mist, like a wave, breaks over the hood and begins to rise.
A flood of brackish vapor laps at the window. Ethereal fingers caress the glass, reaching first to shoulder height and then lunging up to wrap around the reflected neck. Purchase gained, the clammy tendrils crawl up higher to smother mouth, nose and at last eyes. We are engulfed.
Time slows as distances fade. Only the broken yellow line, lost itself just ahead on the road, marks progress through the invisible world. We break the surface as we crest a hill…a gasping breath, and the undertow drags us down again.