2

A good shove from your right elbow loosens the frame's grip on the pane. The glass is thicker than expected, like an airplane window from a distant, foggy memory. Some jostling sets it free and it falls to the ground outside with a muffled thud. You wiggle and squirm through the opening eager to be free from your cell. At last, you tumble to the ground not far below and lay there heaving, grateful for newfound success. Tears from your eyes water the lustful terrain of this barren wasteland.

The window you escaped from appears to be the only anomaly as far as your eyes can see in every direction you turn. A shimmer of light grabs your attention. As you walk in its direction, scarlet footprints are left in your wake. With the setting sun beating on your back, you notice a severe lack of wind. The atmosphere itself feels off, almost like wading through static.

After walking for what seems like an hour, you do not feel any closer to your destination. When you turn around to look back at your cell, it is out of sight and your footprints trace back into the distance. You note they are no longer red, so you choose to continue forward. The sun goes dark for a brief moment like a blink in time. *That was odd. Did the sky wink at me?*

What seemed to be a glimmer of hope turned out to be another lone window in the middle of nowhere. This window stands halfway up a large dune looking down at you. As you walk up to it, you see what appears to be writing on it. When you get closer, it is evident the word *HELP!* is smeared on the inside of the window.

Compassion moves you to run the rest of the way up. Knocking on the window and shouting to whoever is stuck inside proves unfruitful. Try as you might, the window does not budge.

A loud crash interrupts your persistent knocking and silences your yelling. Startled, you tumble back a few feet, then realize there is a body crumpled against the window. Their neck is twisted at an impossible angle and their vacant eyes stare at you, hopeless. One of their forearms smudged away part of the message on impact. The round part of the *P* is now missing. Your mouth agape and eyes wide in horror, *Am I in hell?*

A splinter of glass falls from above almost stabbing you. The distinct feeling of someone watching you causes your stomach to roil. Picking up the shard in your hand, thoughts of suicide run rampant. *Can I even die here? They seem dead to me.*

When you look back up, the body is gone, then everything goes dark.

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