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"Tom. Tom Preston, wake up!"

A thirty-four year old history teacher screamed that sentence, while staring into a dirty mirror tilted on the brick wall of an alley. It was getting dark and the rain hadn’t subsided. His image was grossly distorted in the wet mirror and he wondered why a huge mirror was hanging on the grimy wall of a city alley. More so, he was getting scared. It had been three hours since he left his home and got lost. He knew that he should not be lost. Tom lived in San Francisco for years. How could he have gotten so lost from walking for only three hours? He thought. Then suddenly a revelation hit him like a rock.

"I’m in some kind of ruined ghetto, but there are no people here. I haven’t seen one person in this part of town yet. Maybe it’s this damn rain. Maybe people are just tucked away from the rain." Tom said starting to feel more embarrassed than afraid.

The dark city was wet and dirty. Strewn garbage littered the streets and oddball trinkets like stuffed teddy bears and gold-plated watches seemed purposely abandoned to the narrow walkways. It was a weird an unpleasant place. Grimy patches of peeling paint and rotted wood were regular sights as Tom kept walking. Soon, he realized he needed to take cover. The rain never seemed to stop and he didn’t want to risk his health. He yelled loudly into the street, desperate to get the attention of anyone in town.

"Hello? Is anybody out there? I’m lost, I need directions!" Tom cried out over the gurgling sounds of loud rain drops and rolling thunder.

Yet no one answered back. He gazed high this time, taking a long panoramic look over the broken windows of all the dreary abandoned buildings around him. He saw not even a hint of light in them.

"Dear God, this entire place seems empty. It’s like everyone was evacuated from here." He quipped begrudgingly.

Tom ran under a bus stop’s wooded rooftop. Like everything else in the strange and unfamiliar borough, it was old and decrepit. He sat down on the bench, twisting the long sleeves of his shirt to drain the rain that soaked him. He felt desperation setting in. He was confused. Where was he? How did he get here? Tom wrestled with these questions as he fought to recall the last thing he did before walking to the cold and ominous ghetto. Shards of splintered memories entered his fractured psyche. He recalled meeting his wife under a bridge in the park. He gave her a glass of orange juice. Then, his mind grew stubborn and his memories hit a stumbling block.

"My wife, Mercy – what happened to Mercy?" Tom whispered in deep thought. "She was in the park with me. I remember telling her to meet me there.

Tom sat in the dim light of the violet moon, depressed, afraid, and confused. What had happened to him? And why was he there? Still, he did not know and just when he felt all answers would evade him, he saw a glimmer of light rushing past an aged phone booth. It was a frail woman. She had deep black hair, cut in an Asian style and she limped as she ran into a rustic dime store.

"Hey, wait! I need your help. Don’t run away, I won’t hurt you!" Tom yelled trying to raise his voice over the ever present sounds of thunder.

But the girl did not stop; she slammed the thick glass door of the small storefront as he took chase after her. Upon reaching the nervous woman, he knocked outside until he heard her voice. It was a queer mousy voice, shaky and afraid.

"Get away from me!" She shouted through a crack in the glass door’s window pane. "I’m not bothering you, please, just let me be."

"I’m trapped here, I don’t belong here – I’m lost." Tom explained.

To his surprise, she opened the door a crack and peeped through a small hanging chain link that kept it secure. He caught only a sliver’s glimpse of her, but already, he knew she was beautiful. She had a somewhat rare appearance, as Tom could tell that she was an Asian woman with striking blue eyes.

"I never saw a Chinese woman with eyes like yours." Tom replied a bit surprised that he even said that.

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