[Note: This is the beginning of a fable that is very much a work in progress. My best intention is to put out new material about once a week. We’ll see.
A small number of readers may have seen a much earlier kick-off to this story. I have recently taken it up again and have reworked the earlier material. As always, I welcome any feedback you’d care to share!]
Fog
I can’t remember a time when there was no Fog. It is everywhere, and as far as I can tell, it has always been; I’ve never heard of anyone who has not lived in the Fog. The Fog rules the world; cold and damp cover everything. The sunlight is diffused to the point of near uselessness. Most days, I strain to see more than a few yards ahead, and I can never see more than thirty yards or so. The sun rises and sets each day, but it makes little difference. In the daytime, the Fog is a bit more bearable, but it does not dissipate.
When darkness comes, the Fog is worse. It is probably the same as it is in the daylight, but it seems worse in the darkness. The chill dampness works its way deeper into my bones. My few yards of vision contract to inches. In the darkness, in the Fog, I can’t even see my feet, much less where I am going. I used to try to walk at night to stay warm, but would end up lost, falling into a gully, or crashing into a tree or boulder.
The Fog makes almost everything pointless. I move about, foraging for what food there is and trying to find enough dry wood for a small fire to cook on. Nothing else seems worth the effort. In the Fog, I am lost and alone. The Fog has always been, and I fear it will always be.
Light
I first noticed the Light long ago. I don’t remember how long ago, but it was during a long, dark, and particularly still night that I first noticed a dim glow on the horizon. At first, I thought it was the sun rising, but then I realized it couldn’t be that; it wasn’t in the direction of the sunrise, and it was far too early for dawn. No, the Light must be something else. Unlike the sun, the Light neither rises nor sets; it remains a spot on the horizon. As the fog thickens or thins, the Light appears dimmer or brighter, but I believe the Light never changes. Only the cruel tricks of the Fog make it seem changeable. If you know how to look for the Light and are very attentive, you can still see it even in the daytime, but it is harder to see. It is easiest to see the Light when the night is very, very dark.
I found myself drawn to the Light. I cannot say what it is about it, but though dim and seemingly distant, the Light is attractive. As time went by, I became adept at finding the Light, even in the daytime. Then, the strangest notion occurred to me. For no reason I could explain, I came to believe that if I could find the Light – if I could get to it — I could escape the Fog.
After many months, I made up my mind: I would try to get to the light. Perhaps I could find out what it was. I would find out if the Light could be my escape from the Fog. Day after day, week after week, and month after month, I pressed on through the cruelly cold and oppressive Fog, trying to find my way to the Light. The way was hard, harder than I had ever expected it could be. It was easy to become lost in the Fog. I was often discouraged, and I gave up my quest many times. But each time the allure of the Light — my irrational belief that if I could get to the Light, I would be out of the Fog — overcame my despair, and I once again set out on what my mind told me was a fruitless search.
As I journeyed through the Fog in search of the Light, I discovered that I was not alone. Others wander in the Fog. A few, like me, were trying to make their way to the Light. I was surprised to learn that others had seen it and found it attractive; I had naively thought that I was the only one who had seen it, or at least had felt its pull strongly enough to seek it out. Often, in my despair, I had wondered if the light was even real; perhaps it was a figment of my imagination, something my mind conjured up to ease my Fog-born sense of hopelessness. I was heartened and encouraged to know that others had seen it and were drawn to it.
I had great hopes that one of them could tell me more about the Light. What was it? How far away was it? Could it really dispel the Fog? Forever? But no matter how many times I asked my questions, no one could answer them. Some of the Light seekers seemed sure of themselves and confident that the Light was the answer to all woes, while others were even less sure than I was. But none had any idea how near or far the Light was or how to get to it.
Most of the wanderers I encountered gave no indication of ever having noticed the Light. I do not know why they wandered. Perhaps wandering, even for no reason, is better than just sitting in the Fog. Still others claim to have seen the Light. But now they either believe that what they “saw” wasn’t real, or, though they can still see the Light from time to time, they do not think it means anything and have given up ever trying to get to it. They tell me it is hopeless; that no matter how far they traveled, the Light never seemed to be any closer. They are resigned to their lives in the Fog. I dreaded becoming one of them. I continued on, clutching what little hope I could muster.
From Pops' Workshop 
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