Fallout snow clouds smothered the city and blacked out whichever light was supposed to be out at that hour. My watch stopped working some three sleeps ago and the days before that left unanswered questions to shock my body into a walking supernova of anxiety. My eyes darted around continuously, looking for any movement and my body wouldn’t let me sit, so I kept moving and searching.

The cavities of once tall corporations littered the city like large cigarette burns and left miles of nothing as horizon. Roads had been erased and parks made imperceptible as landmarks. Days (or weeks) in, I found where the earth started sloping down in rocky, uneven terraces. I walked the edge for hours, counting steps and doing the math of feet to miles. I paced my steps and counted seconds in order to recreate time and to occupy myself.

I had seen no one yet. If anyone made it, I imagined how we would react to each other. How much shock and tension can the body take before acting of its own accord? At step 3,280 (just over 16 football field lengths in approximately 53 minutes and 36 seconds), I paused. I looked to the left of the outer ring towards the epicenter and then to the right where I assumed safety to be.

I about-faced and walked, feeling the ground crunch beneath my feet and stopped counting steps so I could pretend the cottony gray tufts were simply the product of an unusual warm winter. I caught myself several times trying to catch them on my tongue and nearly retched. I could feel my thirst and shirt disintegrate as I ran down the sloping earth. I pushed my body harder as I felt flakes, and then chunks, of skin peel away until I was simply the bone structure of a ghost haunting an old home.

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