You enter the house. The door, which you had found unlocked shuts behind you. You think: air pressure, atmosphere. Wonder again how wind can just begin.

It’s dark. There hasn’t been electricity since the event, so it's hard to see. But some darknesses are darker than others. Shadows take shape among other shadows. You remember then your rucksack. You reach inside, select flashlight. It’s the one you found in the wheat field after being chased by wolves. Those feral fucks and their jangly teeth. But, of course, the flashlight’s batteries no longer work. Again, you eye your inventory: pocket knife, skeleton key, notebook.

You stand there for some time. Sulking. Brooding. You could stand there all day, but choose otherwise. As in past lives, you continue through darkness—

Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t continue on. Maybe you choose lava, teeth, the falling chandelier. Maybe you return to the wheatfield and think: air pressure, darkness. Wonder how thoughts can just begin.

There hasn’t been electricity since the event, meaning there is no skeleton key, no helmet-haired avatar. You stare at your ugly silhouette in the television’s ugly display, think how some shapes are sharper than others. Some creatures more feral. And your reflection, the more you stare at it, is starting to look more and more wolflike, isn’t it?

A light flickers and then darkness again. You think: wavelength, radiation. Think: I am fucking foaming at the mouth, aren’t I?