The dream woke me again. I’m not in bed; I don’t know where I am but it’s cold, dark and I’m in my nightie. It ripples against my bare legs; a melancholy ghost in the breeze. My feet, caked with the mud and dust of an unconscious journey, have led me to a decaying shopping mall, windows broken and choked by weeds.

I approach the entrance and push the door open. It drags over broken glass, and my withered muscles shudder with the effort. I know I’ll regret that in the morning, but a strange compulsion propels me through the entrance.

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