The light travelled gingerly across the floor as I stepped into the abandoned building. It extended its milky fingers, thick with dust, out in front of me, as if pointing at something. Startled by the returning express train, I almost tripped over a massive gap in in the stone pavers and landed on the edge of some chalk graffiti scrawled in the hallway beneath my feet.

A cool breeze whipped through the broken windows and stirred the dust into a frenzy. Remnants of curtains billowed in and out like lungs as dusk began to fall. Could it be four o’clock already? How long had I lain in the grass? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

I paced around the apartments, searching for something to eat. In one pantry, someone had left behind packets of unwanted jelly mix. I wiped off the layers of dust that had caked on over the years and gnawed them open with my teeth, one by one, feeling the melting sugar and gelatin powder dissolve on my tongue.

I could have spent hours like that, savouring the sweetness in all the corners of my mouth. Then I saw the packet of wheat biscuits lying half upturned in the corner. The potential of real food lured me to them and I stood the pack upright to allow a closer inspection. Perhaps they were still sealed in their plastic wrapping.

All at once, a puff of mold vapors cascaded over my face and I felt the scurrying of crawling things down my arm. I dropped the packet as the creatures scuttled into the darkened corner of the room. My breathing came quick and fast.

Too late, I realised there was something wrong with my hand.

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