Roof

The wind tears at you as soon as you open the door. If you were cold beforehand, now you’re freezing. You shine your torch through the dark and the rain, trying to pick out any of the adjacent office blocks that you know are there, and yet there’s nothing. You illuminate the ventilation fans and the water tank, but the light seems to reach as far as the short parapet, and then stops. You seem to be as thoroughly marooned as if you were on a desert island, rather than being in the middle of conurbation. You don’t understand how any of this is even possible.

You call out, knowing that it’s futile, but trying anyway: “Help! Help! I’m trapped in here! Help!” You don’t get any sort of answer. Just the howling of the wind and the roaring of the rain. “Hey! Is there anyone who can here me? Help!”

After a while, when your throat is raw and ragged, you stop. There’s nothing out there. As if it’s been spirited away. You slump your shoulders and go back inside.

Go back to the staircase.