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    Summary

    Strangely, as she trudges through the scattered rows of trees, her boots squelching in the mud, she finds no sign of other campers. The pockets of terrain that would normally contain tents are empty, but for the tell-tale evidence of extinguished campfires, ashes scattered on the ground like a fine dusting of snow. She walks past the small concrete public bathroom and finds no signs of life there, either. To others, the scene might be eerie: a misty gray afternoon fading into twilight, no sounds but for the whispers of the trees, no company but the wind in her hair.
    But Riza has always loved fog, always loved the quietest parts of the world. It’s as though she can feel the secrets of each place, brushing up against her skin like a satin shawl. She knows what it is to have secrets, to keep them tucked up inside herself, stored carefully behind her lips. She feels a kinship with these sorts of places, who have seen and known things they can never reveal.

    Written for Kinktober 2022 (pls pay no mind to the current year), day 31. Prompt: free-for-all. I chose the prompt "camping trip" suggested by PistolQueen.

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    Language:
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