OK. So I’m now sitting in the dark with my back against a crumbling building, armed with a stolen kitchen knife, listening to a grinding rumble somewhere in the near distance and hoping it stays there.
Something went seriously wrong.
I was on my way to the Bazaar, could hear its chaos in fact, when I took a wrong turn and ended up in a dead-end. No big deal in any other place — you simply go back the way you came and correct the mistake.
I tried that. Except, when I turned around…the way I came…wasn’t the way I came anymore. It was a chaotic mess of noise and people and dust, none of which had been there a minute before.
Buildings were moving.
I ducked behind the nearest solid looking thing and did my best to cover my ears against the horrible grinding noise that filtered into me and settled in my bones. I have no problem admitting that I huddled there shaking and praying that something heavy wouldn’t fall on me.
In reality the whole ordeal lasted only a few minutes, but terror has a way of settling in and obscuring time. It felt like forever before the earth around me stopped shaking.
When the dust finally cleared the whole area was entirely different than it had been only minutes before. Even stranger was the fact that life on this new street simply carried on as if it had always been there, as if the world hadn’t suddenly decided to rearrange itself.
I still haven’t moved from my hiding place.
I need a plan.