“We must stay here, stand here, stand still in the cold.” The fake, angry, metal laughter said.
He spoke sternly. All strength to hide visibility, the nocturnal fog around them made it hard to see, all metal, and bricks, and cut up rain hiding loneliness or the imagination's lonely monsters. True to the words of drunks before falling to the ground, or maybe taking flight, that whatever was left in view, in sight, was traced without sunlight. Where some might say, though they might not be wise or dumb, that neither no-one nor someone, would able to see into such things, on this night.
“There's a long storm coming here and the pieces.. there's a magnetic force here, bringing it all together in a blur, like a surgeon who's gone mad.” The woman speaking had blocks or bricks muffling her voice, they circled tightly around her head, but she was more bothered by the ones flinging through the air around them. And yet, she clasped her hands to her artificial face, as if she was trying to find something inside.
Shards of metal stuck out of the ground like half-made swords, like a fence blocking off a long-faced ditch that went into a large tunnel, into some shadowy museum of sludge and hieroglyphics, that was where the second masked man lived.
He had a smug smile, long dirty hair, and sleepless eyes that often gravitated towards his prized possession: a concealed pipe with schizophrenic strands of smoke pouring out every one of its holes which lined all but the bottom end where the flame was. The candle fire would shoot out like a tiny dragon's breath when he pressed a button, flipped a switch; though not in that order. No, that was the reverse order which sent the battery into a panic attack, the hand into stiffness, and the handle into shock. He wore dim white gloves that didn't cover his fingers right, they were all tattered and torn, probably couldn't stop the shocks even if they weren't that way.
“Crowds of strangers have gathered around.” The woman said, agitation in her voice. “We just can't see them because the traces of fluorescence here can't burn away the mist.”
The metal face was filled with intense humor that could never match its serious tone, “We must stand here. Stand in the chaos in order to control it.”
Solid and heavy black doors seemed to form out of the ground in scattered places with frosty metal handles, like earth turning to wood, to invention, or the mind turning to the mystery of itself.
“No, no, no! That won't be enough. There's something horrible coming! There's a chill in the air, I used to only feel it on my hands, but now there are cracks forming in my face where the ice will find my eyes!” The brickheaded woman screamed.
Nihilism or hedonism heard them talking, threw his pipe from the shadows into the stone hurricane, “They say it means something, but it all means nothing!”
Now even the ground looked like it was covered with fog.. all underneath the spinning storm in their heads, in the wilderness, and no difference. The wind was growing so severe, things flying around so fast, that if anyone else was truly there they were hiding and hoping to survive. The masked strangers had forgotten anything more than their costumes and props. And the fourth stranger, who was hidden in the fog, crept through the screeching storm.. and she turned the icy handle on the nearest black door.