Bran sat down at the river’s edge. He picked up a small stone and tossed it in, without paying attention to where it went or the splash it made.
Why did Drest always treat him so rotten? It wasn’t fair.
As Bran sat, staring at nothing on the outside, every slight the older boy had ever given him, real or imagined, came up.
A deep heat rose from the iciness. He’d show him! Why, the next time they met, he’d take care of that bully.
Bran didn’t notice his teeth gritting nor his breathing becoming heavier and ragged. He didn’t realize that his fists were clenched nor that his face was red.
Images of what he’d do with Drest flashed through his mind. They began to swallow all other thought. With the violent, angry thoughts, came darkness. All light was blocked by the mental fog.
A large splash on the river made Bran look up. A fog had settled on the river, the trees faded into the distance, disappearing as they receded away.
Although the river and surrounding land was sad, it was also peaceful and calming. Bran took in a deep breath of the moist air, then breathed it out. He recognized exactly where he was and a good memory of when he was a small boy and had fished at this very spot with his father came up.
A few bits of fog lifted from his mind.
He had heard that Drest had been teased mercilessly as a small child, mostly because he looked funny and talked different. Perhaps he had his own demons he was fighting and Bran shouldn’t be so quick to anger.
A little sunlight burned through the fog, both over the river and in Bran’s mind.
He used to play with Finton just over there, beyond those trees. It was such a great time. He had talked to Finton earlier in the day and his old friend was back to normal.
Although Bran didn’t have everything he could wish for, he did have a lot to be thankful for. His father’s walking may have gotten worse over the years, but his father was still a good and kind man. And he had good friends, like Finton. Even the little girl Eileen was a good friend, perhaps better than he deserved.
Bran closed his eyes and thought about all of the good things in his life. He could feel the warm sunshine on his shoulders.
When he opened his eyes, the fog was gone.
He whistled a happy tune as he walked back to the village.
This was written for the Writephoto challenge, which is put on by KL Caley. She provided the photo at the top and the title, Fog.
This story uses location and characters from my WIP.