Trapped Near Closed Grates and Black River Water

Trapped Near Closed Grates and Black River Water

I was walking through the local mall near my childhood home, but all the shops were closed behind heavy wrought-iron grates. The fluorescent lighting was dying out, replaced by this sickly, ash-colored twilight that seemed to seep in through cracks in the ceiling. I ran into Dave from my old accounting job, except he was wearing heavy, dirt-caked leather armor over his usual button-up shirt and wouldn't break eye contact. He kept whispering that the subway station downstairs was flooded with black river water and that 'the wardens' were checking bags at the turnstiles. I realized I didn't have my wallet or train pass, just a rusty iron coin I couldn't remember picking up. We hurried down a service corridor that kept stretching on forever, the floor sloping downward into damp stone stairs. Every time I tried to turn back toward the exit, the shadow from my own body stretched out ahead of me and blocked the way. I woke up with this heavy, cold dread in my chest.