1 Harman ENG 292- Introduction to Fiction Writing Daniel Orozco Humid Fog The world is falling apart.

Each month a new volcano rocks the earth and sends a plume of smoke and ash and sometimes, if it happens beneath the ocean, boiling hot water into the atmosphere. Sometimes the sky is hidden for days. This frightens Colin, who has spent the vast majority of his adult working his way up from an errand boy at KQRZ, the local news station, in the hopes of one day filling their meteorologist position. Almost a year ago, he was finally promoted.; immediately afterward, the volcanoes began. Since his elementary school s rudimentary career day, he had always aspired to become a weatherman. The weather is mostly the same now- grey, hot. The station stopped broadcasting the daily forecast months ago. Who wants to hear that sort of news? When the sun comes out, it is a cause for celebration. Children run barefoot down the streets, leaving tiny footprints in the piles of ash that collect beneath stairwells and clog the gutters. Colin still carries his umbrella. It should be spring. He should be making cheesy jokes about April showers and pilgrims, plugging outdoor concerts and interviewing the local farmers about their strawberries. It hasn t rained since January s flash floods. He can t remember the last time he ate fresh fruit. ~ This time last year, he and Cynthia had spent hours laying in the park, holding hands and feeding the grumpy geese that congregated around the pond. On sunny days they would examine the clouds. Rachelq Harman

2 Harman That one looks like a dolphin in a top hat. She would laugh and raise his hand, clasped in hers, until it lined up with the shape in the sky. That s a cumulus cloud. He would say. They were always cumulus clouds then, round and fluffy and never quite large enough to block out the sun. ~ Another volcano erupts in Prague. A flock of birds, migrating south, drops out of the sky three blocks from Colin s apartment. By the time the city arrives to clean up the corpses, a small crowd has gathered. Children cower behind their parents legs or creep cautiously toward the carnage. Colin gets a call to cover the piece, a sort of consolation prize for his termination. What does this have to do with weather? He has become the station s de facto doomsday reporter. A month ago a freak fog caused a seven-car pile up in an otherwise quiet residential neighborhood, forcing him out of bed at 4:30 in the morning to interview the shell-shocked survivors. Before that he d done a what if piece on the hypothetical packs of wild dogs that animal control officers claimed could take over the streets in less than nine months if not properly monitored. As he pulls on his blazer and walks down his apartment complex s dimly lit staircase, Colin finds himself wondering if anyone even bothers to watch anymore. ~ For every Easter drink you order, you get to pick an egg! They have all sorts of different fun prizes in them! Like candy and free drink coupons and stuff! They re all listed on here.

3 Harman The barista is new and over stimulated. He grins up at Colin, drumming his fingers on the cracked countertop. Hardly anything has changed at the Brews Brothers since the volcanoes started spewing their smog. The coffee hasn t improved, but it hasn t gotten worse. Baristas come and go with the semesters. Mediocrity is a large part of the caf s appeal. The four picture windows are still covered in Sharpie illustrations of dinosaurs and stick figures and, hardly noticeable in the bottom corner, a very defined phallus. However, the rugs by the doors and register have now turned grey, and are perpetually streaked with the ash tracked in by the countless gloomy businessmen and perky sorority girls. The world could be falling down around them, and they wouldn t even notice unless it stopped their cell phone service, he had said to Cynthia once while drinking their customary Sunday Americanos on the patio. She had laughed, maybe, or said something sarcastic back, wrinkling her eyebrows in a way that would have made anyone else look demonic. Maybe he d taken her hand, held it underneath the table. Maybe he d simply stared. It didn t really matter. It didn t seem quite so funny now. I ll have a large coffee. Black. The barista s face falls, slightly, but he soon recovers. Colin turns his back and plops down on a couch facing away from the door, engrossing himself in the local paper and pretending not to hear the enthusiastic offer of a free brownie bite. ~ Right after the first eruption, when everyone else walked around expressing hollow sympathy for those poor Icelanders they, the better people, the genuine humanists, spent hours debating the war and the president and all the really important things. They were standing in the field behind her house beneath an almost empty sky, and as he looked up

4 Harman she took his hand and he decided for good that he truly loved her. There were no clouds that day, big or small, white or grey. Cynthia had smiled, that broad, happy smile that made his eyes water and his nose itch. He opened his mouth to tell her, but as she stared at him with those too-big blue-green eyes, something made him pause. And then she d told him, in what he imagined she saw as the most humane way, I m moving to Reykjavik in a week. She had said nothing else, no explanation, no warning. As he d struggled to find a response, to say all that he d needed to desperately to say, she had kissed him slowly on the cheek and disappeared into the grass, not looking back. He had stared at her, unblinking, not moving until she disappeared from sight. ~ Colin takes a sip of coffee, and immediately regrets it. The roast is too dark, the water too hot. Instantly, he can feel his tongue begins to blister and knows that he will taste nothing for the rest of the day. As he sets the too-full cup on the rickety end table, the couch cushions shift and a tall, dark haired girl, dressed head to toe in yellow, laughs. You should have gone with the special. Excuse me? Colin is baffled by her casual tone and monochromatic dress. I got the sunflower mocha. She leans over, lowering her voice as if revealing her drink choice is a matter of the utmost confidence. And look! She laughs again, opening her peppermint pink egg, A little pony! Colin raises an eyebrow and returns to his reading. He makes a point to avoid cheery people, the deniers of the problems, the ignorant optimists. The girl is too normal,

5 Harman too sunny to exist in a world enveloped by smog. Is she a denier? He wonders, Does she know something I don t? She doesn t stay quiet for long. I m Eleanor, she says, You re the weather guy, right? Without thinking, Colin nods, and then corrects himself. I was. I mostly do human interest now. Human interest is code for cats with

asthma and clogged canals. Despite his pragmatism, and his perpetual desire for accuracy, he can t bring himself to admit that his job, essentially, means nothing. So tell me, weatherman when she says this, the corner of her mouth tugs upward,

as if she has just made a joke that he could not possibly understand- when will we have sunshine? Colin looks down at his fingernails. They are short, bluntly cut, with the exception of his right index finger, where the nail is crooked and severed from catching a snag in his bed sheet. He thrashes in his sleep, smacking the pillows and clawing at the covers. He used to sleep for hours, nearly unwakeable, in a daze of pleasant dreams and blessed unconsciousness. Now he s lucky to get to R.E.M. We don t get sun anymore, he said, looking out the window at the ashy puddles collecting in the gutters, just fog. ~ A few nights before he had dreamt that he was swimming in the city pond, floating on his back and gazing, despite his mother s constant warnings, straight into the sun.

6 Harman Did you know, he had asked Cynthia, who suddenly was next to him, lazily treading water, smiling until her tiny teeth were bared and the corners of her mouth expanded to touch her earlobes, that clouds like that can only form on sunny days? She reached up and set her delicate fingers, exaggeratedly pointy, raccoon-like, onto his shoulder, and, still smiling, pushed off. As the force of her shove propelled him back to shore, she began to laugh, a quiet titter that echoed into thunder that shook the pond until ripples became riptides. A mass of black clouds, cumulonimbus, the ominous aftereffect of too many fluffy, fair-weather cumulous formations, enveloped the sky. Colin was left clawing at the water, struggling not to choke as the humid fog descended and the pond began to spiral into a desperate murky current. ~ Colin is assigned to do a piece on a new species of plant discovered growing out of the grimy baseboards of old houses and the cracked cement of public fountains, shut down and left lifeless after ash began clogging pumps. Scientists call it Solanum volcaniumvolcanic nightshade, and have strong suspicions of its toxicity. Still, it is promoted and prioritized, a sign of hope and rebirth in a world of suffocating clouds. "It's a feel-good story," Horace, his editor, had said, gnawing at a large salted pretzel while Colin picked at the jagged tear on his fingernail. "New life, renewal, shit like that. People love plants." As he stands on the steps of a north-facing mansion, scrutinizing the mangled leaves and black berries of the supposedly new species, he is struck by the absolute void the volcanoes have brought about. The nightshade s flowers droop, lacking the sunlight

7 Harman needed to fully bloom. A housecat skirts around its gnarled buds, sniffing the berries and backing quickly away. The new species is untrustworthy, unsafe. I know, buddy, Colin says, reaching down to stroke its mottled fur, I don t like it either. The cat hisses and disappears behind the house. Colin slumps onto the stoop and stares into the sky. He sits there, waiting for a camera crew that doesn t arrive, sidetracked by the breaking news of an eruption in Austin, the silence punctuated only by the click of the mansion s front door. Hey weatherman. Colin turns around, surprised to see the cheery girl from the coffee shop, clothed entirely in shades of green, shutting the ornately wrought screen behind her. He does not reply, turning back to peer up at the heavy, grey sky pressing down above them. To his surprise, Eleanor takes a seat next to him and remains uncharacteristically silent. They sit like this, suppressed by the weight of melancholy, for nearly half an hour, until Colin manages to find something he thinks is worthwhile to say. Look at the clouds, he says, pointing at the faint halo of the sun behind a thin, grey wall of smog, Even on a good day the sun is just a rumor. Eleanor takes his hand and Colin lets her, startled by the unexpected human contact after six months of solitude. A breeze, an equally uncommon occurrence in the muggy, stagnant city, picks up, rustling the already-dry leaves of the nightshade. Just give it time, she says. Above them, the wind agitates the clouds. A small crack opens, revealing a sliver of sky. Eleanor springs up from the step.

8 Harman Do you see that? she asks excitedly, throwing open the door. Come on, I ve got something to show you. ~ Eleanor leads him up an increasingly narrow set of stairs, all wooden and polished and smelling of cigars. The walls are covered in photos, each in unique and increasingly tacky frames. Eleanor takes the steps two at a time, never stumbling, never running out of breath, occasionally chuckling as she scans the pictures- family photos, couples on vacation, kids shoving each other in the sandbox. Colin tries his hardest to keep up, leaning against the spindly, splintering banister for support. She soars ahead, tugging at the brass latch holding the waxy wooden door snugly in place. Hurry! she says, tilting her head slightly to the left and revealing half of her teeth in an awkward squinted smile. There s not much time! Colin reaches the top, breathing heavily, and opens his mouth to ask, again, what they were trying so desperately to reach. His limbs feel numb, cumbersome. Eleanor stops him, putting her hand solemnly on his shoulder. Are you ready? For what? He wants to ask, Who are you? He desperately needs to know the facts, to prepare himself for what is behind the door. Since Cynthia s departure he has left nothing to chance, establishing a basic routine and sternly adhering to it. Still, there is something in her heavy hazel eyes, a glimmer he has not seen since in anyone since before the Icelandic disaster, which causes him to nod once. Eleanor grins; a full, toothy smile and gently pushes open the door.

9 Harman They are immersed in a field of light. The sun s weak rays, pouring out from a faint sliver of sky, are refracted and intensified through thousands of tiny prisms suspended from the ceiling from fishing line and embroidery floss. Large beams bounce off mirrors placed against the corners and on the floor, angled for maximum reflection. All at once, he is struck by the beauty of the sun and the sky and of Eleanor, standing motionless in the center of the room with her eyes closed, feeling, not seeing, the light and warmth and rainbows. Leaning against the doorway of a strange room in a stranger s house, watching the sunlight fade quickly back to cloud cover, Colin begins to cry. Hey, don t worry weatherman. She stands opposite him, the sad half-smile wryly twisting her face, It ll come back.