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I close the door behind me. It whines on its hinges, unwieldy, massive. The cool handle slams against the lock with a sharp snap. A biting chill takes hold of my body as soon as I step outside, invading my lungs and throat. I’ve got to go, I’m running out of time.

I step into the street, still glistening with a fine mist. The air seems to freeze around me, punctuated here and there with the pale flicker of street lamps. A shiver runs through my body as my soles bounce against the frosted pavement. The dampness in the air would pierce my bones through my skin if I wasn’t wrapped up in layers upon layers of clothing, shielding me from the onslaught of the outside world. I keep moving.

The haze that envelops me little by little is thicker than I first thought. Through its near-mustard yellow veil, I can barely see beyond the end of the passageway. The gentle clap of my footsteps echoes against the walls of the buildings, ushering me along the silent paths.

An alley, then another, left, right, right, left. I ramble along the narrow arteries, stumbling over the uneven cobblestone. A fine, clammy film beads on the tip of my nose. The light plays strange tricks on the tapestry of the sky; it’s impossible to tell whether it’s night or day. I glance at my watch: eight twenty-four. Maybe, I’m not quite sure. Would I be out this early, this late? I doubt it. Looking closer at the clouded dial, I discover that the seconds hand has stopped; I forgot to wind up the battery. Well, it’s a little too late to worry about it.

The storefronts all look the same, and I don’t recognise a thing. Did I really get lost? Around the corner, I think I see my favourite bakery. As I get closer, however, I realise I must’ve made a mistake. The window is not that of the usual little shop, but of an unusual boutique. I thought I knew this place like the back of my hand, but everything seems to have shifted, leaving only mocking facades in my path, laughing at my hesitant strides. There’s not much that’s familiar around me any more. Buildings have begun to disappear, as if melting into the mass of hazy, compact fog. I keep moving.

I wander around for a while, unsure of the place I’m in. Two scarlet halos pierce the nebulous opacity in front of me, stopping me dead in my tracks. They draw me towards them like a siren song, so uncanny yet so familiar. Gradually, I make out a crosswalk at the foot of these red lights: I’ll be able to cross the road, then. “Road” is more of an idea, I think; the asphalt has peeled away so much, it’s now only a tired varnish hanging on by a thread.

I approach the zebra-striped path, and the lights turn green; it’s no longer my turn to cross. Something prevents me from stepping foot, blocking me on the edge of the worn-out sidewalk. I don’t see a vehicle hurtling down the street at breakneck speed, though. Yet I remain motionless, paralysed, waiting for the signals to turn red again.

I finally break down and, propelled by some kind of invisible force, managed to venture out onto the worn-out tar. The lights promptly turn red again. I cross the road, my heart pounding against my temples. I don’t know why I’m so out of breath; a roar in my ears reverberates in the empty expanse around me. I turn around: there’s not a car to be seen, not even a bike. A slight heaviness settles in the pit of my stomach, urging me to be on my guard; better to leave this place as soon as possible. I keep moving.

The quivering cloud swathes me like a heavy blanket, cold and sodden. I see without seeing, blind in the vastness of this vaporous darkness. Why was I outside? I think I was looking for something. Or maybe I had to go somewhere? But where? I can’t remember anymore. Nothing seems quite certain. Only the sound of my soles sinking into the soft soil gives me the illusion of moving forward. It’s as if the world has stopped loading, as if it has forgotten its essence itself.

The crunch of twigs and dry leaves beneath my feet ceases without warning. A sinister figure erupts in front of me, its shadow standing out sharply against the dense fog around us. A big black dog stares at me from the middle of the icy road. His yellow eyes shimmer in the darkness, pinned right on me. His coarse, smoky coat stirs only with the rhythm of the night’s breath.

We stay like this for a while, wax statues rooted in the dirt.

My eyes are welded to his, and I see in him the infinity of the world. Without even a growl, a twitch, a sign, he teaches me everything about the cosmos since the dawn of the universe. Between the aurora borealis of his pupils, I forget my existence in the face of the truths he reveals, and lose myself in the innumerable meanders of time, basking in the centuries that pass beneath our proud gazes.

In another life, I run on all fours beside him. We are brothers, hunters in the woods. I feel the damp grass beneath my paws and the invigorating night air. When the moon is full, we howl our fury and lust for life against an ink-black sky. We are a pack, he is me and I am him. We keep moving, together.

The hound slips away as quickly as he appeared. I breathe in, as if for the first time. How long did he stay? An eternity seems so short once it’s passed. I blink, as if waking from a leaden sleep. What was that dog?And why do I feel as if he’s taken control of me? But he’s gone now, and my reality disappeared with him. My joints creak under the forced activity imposed on them as I resume my stroll. Stiff as marble, my body wobbles, begging to be washed away with the drizzle, with the ruins of what I lost when that creature abandoned me. I keep moving.

My body staggers faintly as I push forward. The mist seeps into my mouth, my nose, my throat, my lungs. My mind. Spreading its opacity everywhere. You can’t think, you can’t grasp anything anymore. The arid clay crackles underfoot.

I can’t keep moving.Or rather, I stopped. My legs plod along, my heart beats faster and my pace quickens, yet it’s no use. It’s as if the world remains static despite my efforts to separate myself from it.

Everything seems so far away, you don’t know what you’re doing, what you want, what you are. We’re no longer sure that I exist, that this “me” to which an “I” would attach itself is real. Something is walking, perhaps we were that something, a long time ago, a few moments ago. We no longer know. We keep moving.

I suddenly slam into a wall, swallowing a grunt of searing pain. Rubbing my temple, I look around. A wall? Something is against me, yes, some kind of barrier preventing me from going forward, hard, icy, but I can’t detect anything in the unusual glow of the street lamps. I try reaching out in the fog; I can’t lift my arms. My hands come up against a smooth, almost intangible surface.

I fumble for a way out. My palms slide against the area, discerning nothing recognisable. Nothing catches my fingers, nothing claws or cuts, nothing but a scarce-perceptible immensity. I follow it for a while, driven by a mad, scorching curiosity screaming to escape from the corners of my mouth.

It’s plain, so, so plain.

A bump snags my fingertips on a slight ridge, a few dents grow under my shaky phalanges. Lines, invisible in the ever-denser mist, slowly take shape under my skin. My hands stumble upon a larger bulge protruding from the unending wall. A doorknob? After a moment’s hesitation, I push it open.

A rift opens beneath me. I step into it, crossing to the other side of this strange impasse: at last, I’ll be able to leave this incessant haze.

I close the door behind me. It whines on its hinges, unwieldy, massive. The cool handle slams against the lock with a sharp snap. A biting chill takes hold of my body as soon as I step outside, invading my lungs and throat. I’ve got to go, I’m running out of time. Should I keep moving?