PIPER
The door closes as if in slow motion. The shaft of light grows smaller and smaller until I'm in total darkness.
The air feels stale. Already, my lungs burn.
I pound on the door with my fists and scream, even though I know it won't do any good. "Timofey!" I shriek. "Timofey!"
I try to convince myself I hear murmuring on the other side of the door, but this room is utterly soundproof. He can't hear me. I can't hear him.
I'm alone.
I stumble backward until my spine slams into the wall. Then I drop to the floor, my knees curling against my chest. If I pass out, I don't want to fall on my stomach. I should stay sitting.
Just as I start practicing slow inhales and exhales, trying to convince myself I'm not going to run out of oxygen in this cramped space, I hear the bolt on the door click.
"It's a mirage." I think mirages are visual, but that doesn't matter now.
My mind is tricking me.
