The Fog

The city disappeared beneath a blanket of unnatural thick fog. It rolled in without warning, swallowing streets, homes in a matter of hours. By nightfall, silence ruled. Not the peaceful kind—but the kind that meant something was out there. Watching. Waiting. 

The usual hum of life had vanished. No traffic. No dogs barking. No voices. Just fog. And screams. Bone-chilling, scattered, silenced.

People locked themselves inside with whatever they could find—wooden planks, beds pushed against doors. Candles flickered as prayers were whispered, trembling hands clutched photos, anything that reminded them of life before this cursed mist. No news, no updates—only twisted bodies discovered on sidewalks. 

The fog, they said, wasn’t natural. It moved against the wind. It crept under doors. It... chose. Some believed it was a gas leak, others blamed secret experiments gone wrong. But no one could explain it rightly. The cold presence that pressed against the skin, like breath on the back of the neck when you’re alone.

Then the fog grew hungrier.

Few saw shapes moving through the white. And through it all, eyes glowed deep within the mist—green and inhuman. Towering forms that bent physics, their outlines flickering. Witnesses tried to describe them but none remained alive long enough to finish.

A creature that defied form. Gigantic. Alien. Its surface shimmered like black water.

Its eyes glowed like green fire. The fog curled around it—obedient, as if it were its maker.

Then it spoke. Voice like stone grinding against steel:

"You were given a planet rich with life. You poisoned it. You knew what you were doing. You did it anyway. You turned oceans into waste. Skies into fire. Soil into rot. This is not an attack. This is a correction. You had your time. You proved unfit."

The alien was no invader—it was an executioner.

The creature raised its arm, and the fog responded. Screams echoed again.

Earth wasn’t conquered but on verge of... extinction

-The End

#shortfiction #fiction #Earth #Life #shortstories