inside a dark room is a box. inside of the box is a card. the card has instructions to get there. he picks up the box along with a stack of papers and flies out the door and into the searing heat of mid-day. he whips his head around frantically, eyes darting, drenched in sweat from brow to chin. panting, he begins to run, down, out of the peaceful cul-de-sac, where time might as well be frozen and not even a bird can be heard chirping.

he gets to the corner and sees a beat up truck parked down the road, engine on, sputtering hot exhaust from the tailpipe. he looks out across the desert to the mountains almost dreamlike in the distance. it would be months before he could imagine the freedom those mountains suggested. it was almost cruel the way their very presence enforced his imprisonment.

running past the truck, worn shoes on hot grey asphalt, he thinks about yesterday. 17 hours ago he had been the same as now, but now there was so little hope of survival that emotions seemed pointless.