Creative Writing – Mist


I trace my outstretched finger along the glistening surface of the smooth, metal barrier, watching larger, more defined water droplets form in its wake; tiny, narrow pools, reflecting a single, lonely street light that stands guard above my head.

Then, grabbing the cold steel firmly with both hands, I launch myself up and over, landing with a dampened thud on the artificial surface of this disused running track.

I raise my face skywards and feel the soft dance of morning mist against my skin, tingling as the refreshing spray energises my whole being – the timer beeps on my trusty old Casio watch and I slowly start running, the first few strides pounding and shaking any final, morning cobwebs out of these tired bones.