[hider=Iz][img=http://www.ecorazzi.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/michael-clarke-duncan-peta.jpg][/hider]

[indent][b]Mist fell from the sky[/b][/indent]
Israel looked up and frowned- if he'd known that last night's heavy rain wasn't entirely over, he would've taken the truck. That's part of living isolated from the mass media- you lose the weather forecasts, and when you live in a mostly wooded area, it's tough to predict it on your own.

A sharp pain caused Israel to jerk his left hand off of the wooden railing that lined either side of the slim dirt road, something Iz chose not to walk upon since there were now large spots of mud that dotted the sparsely used lane. Instead, he walked down the small area of damp grass in between the road and the fence. Freeing his hand of the splinter Iz trudged on, a lone, hulking figure in soaked denim overalls and mud covered work boots.

[i]At least,[/i] he thought, [i]it's not cold. Still should've thought to bring a jacket, though. Hell, I should've just drove[/i]

Thinking back on it, Iz couldn't quite recall exactly [i]why[/i] he decided to walk into town instead of drive. Perhaps it had to do with the serenity that these longer walks tended to bring with them; time a man could spend immersed in only his thoughts. Or perhaps it was the views of the forested countryside that just weren't the same when looked upon from the other side of a window.

It took Iz roughly another hour to reach the outskirts of town, and the foggy mist never let up. Iz was just thankful it didn't start pouring again. He was roughly twenty minutes away from where he needed to get to, and he looked forward to getting the errands done quick so he could get back home to mom. She had struggled just to write the list that Iz carried in his chest pocket. It was probably just the dreary weather, but the small town, more of a village, really, looked off today. Iz shrugged the thoughts away and went back to staring at his boots while he walked with his big hands in his pockets. 

[b]T[/b]he original town, if one could even call it that, was just a small hodgepodge of old rotted buildings that used to be centered around a[/indent] mine that has long since collapsed. Some of the apparatus still stands, however, such as the remnants of an old elevator that now act as a sort of "stage" in the center of town, around which the newer brick buildings have been built to try and mask the "ugly" old ones. The town didn't really have a mayor to Iz's knowledge, though there was a man named Groan that most of the citizens seemed to look up to when they needed a voice. Groan was a very rotund and pudgy man, Iz often liked to think the man was made of the dough that Groan's wife uses to make the biscuits that Iz could eat a dozen of. The pudgy premier stood on the stage, fat hands jammed into blazer pockets that were too small for them. Iz noticed that he looked increasingly nervous as he talked to the two other men that stood close to him; Iz didn't recognize either one of them, though judging from their dirty, mottled, and ugly clothing they weren't from around here. One of the two had teeth that were orange as a pumpkin, and the other barely had any teeth at all. Iz noticed the toothless one was holding something, though from Iz's angle it was hidden by Groan's plump figure.

Groan glanced at Israel as he walked by the stage as he crossed the center of town to finally reach his destination- the store that was owned by Mr. Swelter, whom had given Iz his long lost bike so long ago, though Iz would never forget the gesture. He glanced back once more to try and see what the toothless man was holding, but he had shifted in such a way that Iz still couldn't see it. 

Mr. Swelter used to be one of the more popular storeowners in the small town, though nowadays Iz noticed that the general store was increasingly becoming something of an antique shop, as the now wrinkled Mr. Swelter began selling old trinkets and knick-knacks that he would dig up from the old abandoned buildings. For the time being, however, he still sold the flour that Israel had come for. 

Though today it didn't seem that Mr. Swelter's shop was open- the lights had been shut off, and the door was locked. 

[i]But I can see his coat hanging in the corner...[/i]

[i]Psst![/i] 

Iz jumped at the sudden realization that he was being stared at. From around the corner poked Mr. Swelter's head, but at first Iz could hardy recognize him. What used to be a wrinkled and red-nosed man who prized his grooming rituals now looked wild: his hair was in messy curls down to his shoulders, and he sported a long white beard. 

"Mr. Swelter?" Iz called back, much to the apparent dismay of the wily shopkeeper. He brought a finger to his lips while using his other hand to beckon Iz to come closer. After some hesitation, Israel did as requested. When they were behind the store, Mr. Swelter grabbed Iz by the forearms and gave him a hard look:

"Israel, my boy, I can't stay here for long. I knew you'd be comin', it's that time of the week, so I set aside a couple'a bags o' flour over'ere for ya'."

"Mr. Swelter? What's goin' on?"

"Th-they're huntin' me, boy. S'hard to explain." Swelter made another quick glance around the corner-

"They're comin', boy! You didn't see me!"

Mr. Swelter took off across the small field behind his store- into the woods. Just as he was being enveloped by the treeline Iz could feel the eyes on him.

"What're ya' doin' ova' here, boy?" 

It was the toothless man that had been talking to Groan; Iz now realized that the thing he had been holding was a shotgun. Iz froze and his mind raced, he slowly reached down and retrieved the two heavy bags of flour that Swelter had set aside just for Iz. 

"Shopkeepa' usually leaves flour for the folks who work for him."

"Eh? Ol' Groan says th' shopth been clothed for month."

Iz couldn't move a muscle. The toothless man's trigger finger twitched, but he made no effort to point the weapon at Israel. Ages passed, and Israel had started to sweat when the man scowled and pointed with his chin, "Git. We want that wiccan occult son'bitch."

Israel made no hesitation. He slung the heavy flour bags over either shoulder and almost ran out of town- drenched from the sweat and mist. Groan and the other man that accompanied toothless were nowhere to be seen.

His heart was beating and his head was full of questions, but at least momma'll be happy he got the flour.