Sunday finally arrived - days that from the beginning of the week continued to press my mind. That promise, a promise to meet again with two figures I ever called in the fog world. During the last six days, I tried hard to adjust to the new body, regulate the routine so as not to stand out, suppress faint energy so that it remains hidden, and looking for something that I can use to strengthen me. But behind all that, this meeting is always waiting, like a shadow that I can't avoid.
That morning went normally. I woke up early, doing physical exercise as needed, then eat improvised. I don't want the body to be too tired; Today is not to test strength, but to reopen the mystery veil that binds me. After that, I returned to ordinary routine - wandering the house, staring at the movement of the stock market for a while, and greeted the neighbors to still look normal. Everything is done with a calm face, even though my heart beats harder than usual.
Time creeping fast. When the clock pointed at three o'clock in the afternoon, I sat cross -legged in the living room that I had been in the morning. I closed the window curtains tightly, I extinguished the lights, leaving only a faint light that seeped from the gap of the door. The air around me feels heavier, as if waiting for something.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, then began to call. Not with a loud voice, not with the language that can be explained, but with the rhythm that has been embedded in my mind since I first entered the world of fog. The words just glide, form a faint pattern that is more like a whisper of heart than prayer.
Air changes. The room temperature drops, making my skin shudder. I know, the door to the world of fog slowly opened. The sound of the pocket clock that I kept in the back room joined in resonance, somehow creeping up here, as if it was a marker that this ritual was true.
Slowly, a thin fog crept from the corner of the room, filling my gaze. The faint smell of metal piercing the nose, mixed with a foreign taste that is difficult to explain. I was on the threshold.
Then, once again I entered. The world of fog welcomes me. Just like before: empty, dark, and indescribable. Only myself and two figures that slowly emerged from afar, vague, the shadow whose form was not yet completely clear.
They stood there, not moving, just staring at me with a more pronounced existence than being seen.
I swallowed, straightened up, then opened the sound:
"Are you ready"
The voice echoed far, drowning in the fog, but I knew they heard.
---
During the last six days, my life went as usual - the father, speech, negotiation behind the table, and the camera spotlight that always demanded a perfect smile. That's the life of a politician. However, behind all that routine, there is one thing that continues to haunt: Saturday night that seemed to be erased from my head.
I remember clearly the schedule that day. Morning to evening was filled with meetings with donors, at night I should have returned home calmly. But every time I try to remember the details ... there is a black gap, empty, does not contain anything. One full night just disappeared from my head.
Initially I thought this was just fatigue. Sleep too late, work pressure, or maybe just a brain that refuses to re -play something boring. But the more days passed, the more I'm sure it's not the cause. There is something real disappearing from me - not just ordinary memory, but something that *was deliberately deleted. *
Since that day, I often feel small peculiarities. The clock in my office is sometimes beating half a second slower and then back to normal. The shadow on the window window occasionally seemed uncontrollably with my movements. And the most disturbing, every time I stand alone, there is a feeling as if there is another eye that stares at me from behind the thin fog that is invisible.
I tried to cover up this anxiety in front of people. In the meeting room, I still spoke firmly, develop a campaign strategy with a smile full of confidence. In public, I still raised my hands and spread promises. But in my heart, I know: something is wrong.
That Saturday night ...
What exactly happened?
Why every time I try to force the memory to come out, my head throbbing as if refusing?
I never felt afraid of losing memory. But this time is different. As if there was a part of me connected to something out of reach, something that did not want to be known by anyone - including myself.
And the more I try to forget, the more I feel ... the Saturday night is still ongoing, either in other places, whether in a space that cannot be touched by time.
Two o'clock in the afternoon, I was still in my office. The files are scattered on the table, cellphones incessantly vibrate with messages from party partners, and outside the window, the votes of the city continue to buzz without stopping. This routine is like breathing for me: meetings, speeches, promises that must be spoken with a calm face. Everything went as usual, as if I was just a busy politician who had a ladder of power.
But behind all that, my mind is not entirely here.
The image of the fog world is still attached to my head. Last week's meeting-a room, foreign, and almost felt like a dream-never really lost. Two other figures were there, and he ... He called us. I don't know who he really is, who knows what he wants, but obviously there is something far beyond human logic.
I sipped the cold coffee, my eyes stared blankly on the laptop screen that displayed the draft speech. The words feel empty. What does the political slogans mean when compared to the strange truth that I see in the fog? The world that we strengthen is - how fragile he is, how easily he is torn apart by something bigger.
Jam dinding menunjuk pukul dua lewat sepuluh menit. At that time, something stabbed my consciousness. There was no sound, no telephone call, but a foreign taste slipped, exactly the same as last week - an invitation. Or maybe ... a command.
My hand stopped typing. I closed the laptop, leaning my body against the chair, then closed my eyes for a moment. In my mind, the fog appeared again. The coldness, the thickness of his thickness, and the faint gaze of two other figures. I held the arm tightly, trying to hold back.
Three o'clock.
I know, whether I want it or not, I'll be back there.
I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and for a moment the real world felt blurred. The sound of the vehicle outside faded, the sound of the cell phone seemed to move away, until everything disappeared was swallowed quietly. When I re -opened my eyes, the fog had connected me.
There again, unlimited gray empty space.
I stood up, my body was stiff, while last week's memory was now clear - the proposal was thrown, the promise that had to be confirmed today.
Dan dari kejauhan, aku melihatnya. He called us.
The figure stood calmly, the fog spinning around him, while two other shadows began to appear slowly.
I took a deep breath, trying to strengthen myself.
Even though I am a politician, used to lying and negotiating, this time I know-in this fog world, there are no sweet words that can save.
I stood in the fog, my steps echo even though the land under me was formless. Every time I blink, the memory of the meeting last week was clearer: the vague words spoken, the offer that was thrown, and the stabbing gaze seemed to penetrate deep into my mind. He ... that person. A figure who knows where it came from, called me to this place.
My heart beats harder. I used to argue on the podium, facing thousands of pairs of eyes, turning the facts to suit my interests. But here, there is no microphone, there is no camera, there is no endeavor. Only fog, silence, and something far greater than humans.
I turned around, and sure enough - two other shadows came back. Faint, but this time clearer than before. Their presence pressed, as if the air itself refused to be inhaled. I can feel that we are both invited, both are part of the game that we do not understand.
And in front there, he stood up.
Calm down, not moving, but the aura he emitted made the whole world of fog centered on him. He did not speak, but his gaze - or who knows what I considered a gaze - sued. Wait.
That memory hit me. Last week, he conveyed the proposal. Not a threat, not a request, but something between the two. A road that we can choose, or we refuse. And I ... I don't know what to answer.
My hands are clenched on the side of the body, trembling.
Why am I? I thought. Why is a politician who lives in a world full of false promises and dirty ambitions can be withdrawn to this place?
I looked at him again, that figure. He waited for an answer. The surrounding fog spins, like the heartbeat of the world itself follows his will.
I want to open my mouth, but the sound choked in the throat. I realize, one word that is wrong can be more fatal than a thousand lies in the real world.
For the first time in my life, I can't take shelter behind rhetoric. There are no words that can deceive him.
And that's when I realized: I could not retreat. There is no way out of this meeting. I can only choose-will it go forward, or let the fog swallow me alive.