It felt much warmer in the building, sequestered away from the wind. This was a godsend, because I no longer had any way to build a fire, apart from rubbing two sticks together, which felt futile.

Every few minutes, everything that had happened rushed into my mind again, a wave of desperation washing over me. This came with renewed pain, as if my brain were throbbing against the confines of my skull.

After a while, I couldn't take it anymore. I got up and ventured around the building, investigating its dark maze of rooms to distract myself. Judging by the abandoned cubicles and computers, it had been an office building of some sort. From outside, it had looked small compared to the skyscrapers of my city. I wasn't sure how many floors there would be, but I found a staircase and started climbing.

The stairwell had no windows, meaning it was absolutely dark. But I didn't fear ghosts in the blackness. My reality was terrifying enough.

I ascended five flights before growing exhausted, my lungs heaving for air. I left the stairwell and searched blindly, eventually spotting light under a doorway that told me a window was near. Sure enough, I pushed open the door to reveal a board room with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Pressing my forehead against the cold glass, I could see the full expanse of wintry forest, along with the winding river and the bridge that spanned it. You wouldn't think the cold landscape could be so deadly judging by its beauty. Snow blanketed the terrain, conforming to its shape like a delicate silk sheet. The sun glared overhead, making the falling flurries of snow glint under its rays. The abandoned city, despite its degradation, looked like a winter wonderland.

Eyeing the bridge below, I made a mental plan to leave the building and cross the river after a solid night's rest. From there, I could head directly south and hope to beat the vicious winter before it fully sunk its teeth in.

As night fell, I found a leather couch in an employee break room and slept until the sky was bright again.

That morning, the moment I thought about leaving, I began to shiver. My head was no longer pounding rhythmically; the pain had become constant and unwavering.

Later, I thought my nose was running, but when I wiped my face with my hand, it came back smeared with stark red blood.

No, I wasn't going outside. It was too cold.

Instead, I trudged up more flights of stairs until I reached the eleventh floor. On it, I discovered a mini-fridge full of spoiled employee lunches. Ordinary life really had been interrupted suddenly, just like my own.

Later, I woke up on the floor feeling lightheaded and weak. I peeled myself off the carpet, realizing I'd probably passed out. As I got up and walked around, time seemed to stutter, and I found myself in another room without remembering my journey there. Windows here were broken, and snow had piled inside the building.

There were also endless desks with framed photos of smiling families. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to them all. But wondering was as hopeless as shouting into an abyss; I would never receive any answers.

On the fourth day, I had to remind myself who I was and why I was there, wandering around in a deserted building. A part of me recognized that I was losing my head and wanted to fight against it and scream at myself to get a grip. This part was soon overpowered.

The pain was too much. I needed help. I couldn't go on another day like this.

I would go to the roof. I would scream and feel my voice carry for miles. Maybe someone would hear it and come to save me.

But getting there would be easier said than done. I was losing strength and cognition rapidly. The pain was only growing. I could hardly believe it could get worse than it was, even though I felt certain it would.

The only hatch to the roof was padlocked shut, and my brain was too scattered to search for a key. I wandered aimlessly down to the floor with the broken windows, standing precariously at the edge and peering outside. My stomach churned, my head going dizzy at the distant sight of the ground. For a moment, I thought I saw a figure moving below, but I rubbed my eyes and it was gone.

Outside one of the windows was the fire escape—a staircase mounted to the building. I crawled out the window and looked up. Sure enough, the metal stairs and a ladder led to the roof. There were two problems: it was now freezing cold, and I was terrified I might slip or blackout while climbing the ladder.

So I started climbing.

The stairs soon ended, leaving only the stretch of ladder. I took it slow, always keeping three limbs on the ladder while moving only one arm or leg at a time.

When I hauled myself onto the edge of the roof, my teeth were chattering and my hands were shaking. On the bright side, the cold numbness spreading through my limbs meant I didn't notice the pain so much.

There was a strong sense of finality in the air now. Maybe this would be the last time I'd inhale this cold, bracing air. Maybe I'd never have to feel the constant tension and anxiety in my stomach again. In some ways, I was hopeful.

With my next breath, I let out a scream that had been growing—for days, months, or maybe years—releasing all of the tension from the pain and stress that had built up inside me. I could feel the sound stretch for miles across the frozen landscape. I kept going until I had no air left, then collapsed on the snowy roof. For a few minutes, silence surrounded me.

Then all hell broke loose.