Too Late

I scrambled up the rocks, their slippery surface, denying my scraped and bleeding feet passage to the outcrop of rocks hanging over the sea of night. Mist gathered at my feet, bellowing up and obscuring the slimy rocks imprisoned by chains of kelp that wrapped around their motionless bodies. I stopped, my breath spilling out of my lungs, my nose and mouth unable to draw the air back inside my chest. Mist coiled in and out of my mouth, like ghostly fire, suffocating as smoke does when it leaves corpses charred and crisp on the ashen floor. The fog retreated as moonlight cut a path to the ridge, illuminating a solitary silhouette standing before the sea. I was too late. The moonlight vanished and the figure fell into nights outstretched claws.