Thursday 16th December.
Richard woke up and got ready for his morning walk. He opened the curtains, and a thin, white cloud covered his garden and the road beyond it.
Leaving his house, his eyes widened as the cold air hit his face. The night was still fierce, but the morning light peeked through. He reached North Park and stopped at the football pitch. A thin layer of mist hovered above it. He glanced at a small plaque that commemorated the tragedy and sighed. The grass crunched under his boots as he walked across it.
The fog moved around his feet. He turned and looked at the rest of the park.
“Thick fog here. Thin fog there,” Richard said.
He checked his watch and headed home to start work.
His working day flew by, and he stood up, stretched, and went downstairs. He glanced out of the window and paused. His garden had a light sprinkling of snow, which melted into mist before his eyes.
“Can’t be,” he said.
He shook his head. When he looked back, snow rested on his neighbour’s garden while his remained covered in mist.
Friday 17th December.
He re-read the same few articles regarding the crash as he worked.
“Richard, are you okay?” said his manager.
He blinked and sat forward.
“Sorry. My connection went funny,” Richard said.
A few members of the team nodded, and a conversation followed. Richard closed his personal laptop out of sight.
The meeting ended, and his watch ticked over to lunchtime. He closed his work laptop and opened his personal one.
“Come on!” he said, punching the air, “For each anniversary, the weather around the park was the same. Thick fog and barely visible conditions. Commented as being almost the same as those from that fateful day.”
His working day ended, and he ordered a takeaway, killing some time before taking a late-night walk.
A few cars passed by, as did a few people walking their dogs. Soon, he reached the park. The fog settled calmly on top of the pitch, and Richard sat on the bench pitch side. He watched as the fog changed. Wisps, twirls, and divots appeared before whipping into a circle and settling back down.
“Are they training? They did train on a Friday,” he whispered.
His eyelids became heavy.
‘He can watch the game. Could be a nice change.’
‘As long as he stays quiet. No noise. Just watch. Just appreciate.’
‘Kick-offs at five to midnight on Sunday, lad.’
Richard’s eyes shot open. The fog was still.
He sat up and stared into the mist.
“I’ll be here,’ he said.