Slivers of clammy mist sting my face.
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I slam the hood of my car hard
Infused with frustration and rage.
The road is empty and shadows play within the shifting fog.
Fingers clasp my shoulder and hair prickles the back of my neck.
I turn, peering through the thickening air.
Wildly, I stare, searching for the hand, the arm, the very entity.
My throat closes as hands grip it but naught is there.
My hands beat wildly against the fog as my mind closes over the insanity of dying at the hands of nothing.