The window frames are empty, save for the occasional canine teeth of glass against the darkness of the room beyond. Not a single one is properly in place, even the large doors to the entrance of the tall building hanging crooked from their hinges with bare woodwork. They are the victims of many years of neglect, lichens growing on the walls that once housed people, scurrying animals of various species roaming freely through the rooms humans once inhabited. The barren sight holds my gaze for a full minute before I tear it loose and furrow my brow, the unprecedented desolate state of the place sinking into my memory. My eyes wander, drifting downwards, lowering to the ground before me.
Tall grass reaches all the way across the road, tarmac pavement obscured by the uprising of flora, broken by the freeze and thaw of water, cracked open wide by plant roots. The rustling of small animals sounds, and shows, among the green blades, and I hold my breath, hoping to lure them from hiding. I’m curious to see what creatures dwell in such a dreary locale. The distant warning call of an eagle chills my blood, the subsequent smothering silence clutching at the breath in my throat. Nature has the ability to be terrifying when experienced up close.
Profligately out of place, two pairs of train tracks run parallel to each other and the flanking building, their metal rails covered in rust-coloured flakes, the wooden planks between them mossy, termite chewed, and covered in grime.
I take a hesitant step forwards, wet grass brushing past my jean-clad legs, the broken pavement crunching and shifting under the soles of my shoes. My eyes are trained on the phantom-esque fog that swirls idly in the distance, surrounding the isolated clearing in which the weather and time worn building stands. It sparks an eerie sense of loneliness in my heart, as though the ghostly vapour forms a solid barrier between myself and the civilization I assume to be there, beyond the hazy edges of the glade. They have to be there, I cannot possibly be the only one left.
Left? I shake my head to myself in an attempt to clear it, taking in a deep cleansing breath. If I cannot recall why I've woken up to such altered surroundings, how could I possibly begin to assume I have been left?
Lightning pierces through the tumultuous mass of clouds above me like the wrath of a God, and I flinch, ducking low to the ground as the rolling thunder rumbles in its ruthless wake. As though on cue a cascade of rainwater pours down on me, more ferocious a storm than I have ever witnessed. I run, slipping, across waterlogged train tracks to the shelter of the building. Judging by the sound of scurrying rodents, I am not at all alone in my search for dry land, though the little buggers remain out of sight with acquired skill.
Panting, I regard the outdoors with weary eyes, standing just inside the entrance hall. Here, too, lichens reign, and weeds peep out through cracked tiles. Another bolt of blinding white cleaves through the darkened sky, and I startle, my heel catching on a protruding edge of tile. With a shout I find myself reeling, arms out, hands clawing at thin air, the impact inevitable and rock-hard on the jagged sides of broken flooring. There I lie, sucking staggering breaths of air into my lungs as rain pelts my face and torso; a waterfall through five levels of broken cement and architectural structuring. The creations of man succumbing to the extremes of weather.
With my sight distorted by the film of water I can see the sky through the gaping hole of collapsed ceiling and roof, and I wheeze and sputter as the liquid rains into my mouth, filling it in seconds. It cannot be normal rain, it's a monsoon, I am sure of it. Clamping my lips tightly together, I allow the water to beat me into oblivion, my heartbeat erratic as it pounds a single word through my veins. How?
It must have taken Mother Nature decades to reclaim the territory once forfeited to the will of human beings.
But that cannot be; I was at school here only yesterday.
