anti:freeze

I was trapped in a stairwell.

The building was old, with dark baseboards, cracked plaster walls, and heavy wooden doors. It was hot - at least ninety degrees - and the air stung my nose, left a taste on the back of my tongue. Crushed aspirin and rose petals. Or skin ointment - the kind you rub on mysterious rashes.

There were three stories, but only two exits - one at street level, wired with a fire alarm, and one on the second story, with a faint, golden two painted above a serious deadbolt. I jiggled the knob. Loose, rusty. The deadbolt was locked. I decided to hotwire the alarm.

I pulled pliers from my messenger bag and pried open the metal alarm box. Suddenly, someone grabbed my wrist, pulled my arm behind my back. A shock sizzled through my bones. Phalanges, metacarpals, lunate, ulna, radius, humerus, clavicle. Marrow hot as lava, liquid, unstable.

From behind, a whisper in my ear: The truth is, no one really understands electricity.

And then I woke up.