My belly rumbles aggressively, loud enough that it’s hard to ignore. But…I haven’t found any food. Following the beach inland has proven, literally, fruitless. Every step is blue – blue sand, blue sea and blue sky.

Thirst hasn’t found me yet, though it’s only a matter of time. Instead, there’s a gnawing emptiness in my stomach. It feels like it's been empty for weeks and I can’t remember enough to prove the feeling false.

The growl rolls, restless, and I huff out a breath. “Where’s a restaurant when you need one?”

I pause at the thought. It’s another blank space that I can’t understand. I know what a restaurant is, but I can’t remember a single one that I’ve been to. I can’t remember what they look like or what they have in them, only that it falls in the category of “food”. It used to come in all sorts of colors – food. I’m pretty sure of that. It came in reds, and yellows, and greens, and blues.

Hmm…blues…

My eyes drop to the sand. The breeze stirs blue particles around my ankles, crystalline clouds sparkling in the sun.

I wonder... I mean... maybe...

I shake my head at the thought, suddenly concerned about the effects hunger can have on the mind. I ignore the possibly unhinged speculation and concentrate on my surroundings.

The desert is mostly flat, allowing for a plod through the sand that’s a little less grueling than it could be. Sometimes the blue dips a bit or rolls into a dune, but the hills are only waist high. The result is an uninterrupted view.

Part of me is relieved that I can easily spot approaching threats, but it gnaws at me that nothing but blue has even broken the horizon. The cold, uninterrupted miles make my feet ache and my stomach grumble in complaint.

I push past the disappointment and decide there’s nothing I can do but keep walking.

The monotony is draining and I try to track time by the sun. Its descent feels like molasses and something in the back of my brain tells me its pace is... off, somehow. Still I try, roughly counting steps against its fall, tallying the minutes, but I can tell after a while that it doesn’t match my expectations…whatever that is. The disconnection tugs at memories I can’t find and it makes me dizzy.

How long has it been? A couple of hours? Four maybe? Eight?

By the time my throat starts to itch with thirst I feel uneasy. Thirst could kill me long before I find anyone, and there’s a risk that stuffing random things in my mouth could kill me faster. I don’t trust the sea to be a safe place to drink, though I might be driven to it. Food is a different problem altogether. I haven’t seen any plants or wildlife, not even swimming about on the edge of the ocean.

I really need to find a town, or a river, or – Is that food?!

There’s green! I see green!

The smudge of color is small, definitely far away, and just peaking over the edge of a distant dune – but hope rushes through me like a wave. My stomach growls out its approval.

I start jogging, which is stupid, because the green is still a long way off. I try to smother my excitement. After all, it’d be embarrassing, not to mention life-threatening, if I collapsed from exhaustion before ever eating food. The reminder is enough to measure my pace, trudging slowly forward, when another peak of color breaks the horizon.

There’s white now, and oh... more green, and more green.

I giggle in triumph. I’m going to live!

“I’m going to live!”

My steps turn into little hops, and any calm I have is decimated.

It takes a while, and I feel like I’m dying of thirst when the white spot forms into a tower. Another dozen minutes of torment brings wild vegetation into focus.

It’s interesting. The whole thing is just sort of sitting in the middle of the sand like an island.

Odd, really.

It’s only when I’m nearly upon that I notice disrepair. Intricate patterns twist up the white brick, blending into one another. The edges are worn down, smooth enough that the details are hard to make out. And yet, the white of the column is pristine, without a speck of dirt or grime.

It’s easily three stories high, maybe four. A diagonal cut near the top shows a large chunk of the wall missing, exposing several levels. The cut looks clean, like…like… like a knife through butter. The missing piece is buried in the sand nearby, like it simply slid off. It’s bizarre.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I turn away from the stone to study the nearest hedge of greenery. The vegetation is more likely to produce food than the tower, and as disturbing as the perfect cut is, there’s not much I can do if I collapse from hunger.

The leaves of the shrubs are green and fat, each one the length of my forearm. The vines are dotted with thorns that taper to purple points and some part of my brain reminds me that plants are, on occasion, poisonous. I frown at the thought, wondering how I’m supposed to tell if this plant is among them. The dilemma has me leaning forward, and that’s when I notice something odd.

The vegetation isn’t touching the tower – at all, not even the chunk of bricks that fell off.

The leafy hedges are three feet from the wall, so perfectly distanced that it’s like they’re avoiding it. Which is bizarre, because surely that’s not natural. Instead, the vines twist away, curling back into themselves as strange little swirls in the foliage.

I step toward the nearest swirl, crouching down to peer through the mesh.

Settled in the center is a flower – blue... unsurprisingly.

My stomach grumbles again and my throat itches. I lick my lips as a petal flutters in the breeze.

Maybe it’s edible? Should I try it?

I throw a glance at the tower, noting again the state of disrepair. It’s possible of course, that there’s something inside, maybe even something unspoiled if I’m lucky, but the flower is a more viable option.

I study the petals, wondering again at what signs might point to poison when I focus on the bud at its center. It's partially open, angled towards the ground, and I startle when something dribbles out.

Hmm, is that…

I squint and lean forward, waiting for the next drip. The flower yawns open, like it’s taking a breath, and a stream of blue sand dribbles out.

…

Well…

My eyes drop to the sand beneath my feet, then to the plant… then back to the blue sand.

My earlier speculation feels less wild than it did in the open desert and the word “food” becomes firmly affixed to the crystalline blue – now accompanied by a puzzling series of images.

Sand in a bowl.

Sand on a stick.

Sand sandwiched between two fat green leaves.

“I’m going crazy,” I mumble to myself.

I try to ignore the pang in my stomach and force myself to walk away from the plant. I should explore all my options. Yeah. It’s important to know all the options before making a decision.

The tower is blinding up close. Sunlight reflects off of its pure white surface and my eyes squint as I study the brick. I have to walk halfway around the structure before I stumble across an entrance...or at least what looks like an entrance. It’s white, like the rest of the tower. It blends almost seamlessly, only defined by the faintest ridge around its border.

I wonder if it’s a defensive measure and for a moment I flash to a memory of running into a door, maybe...maybe a clear one? But the very idea is crazy so I dismiss it. A quick glance upward shows similarly disguised windows, visible only by the shadows lurking around their edges.

It takes a bit of squinting to find the handle of the door and the first tug sticks. The second, harder pull, breaks something free and a puff of blue dust hisses from the seam.

The white door opens to a dimly lit room. Light pours down from a hatch in the ceiling, one that likely leads up to the next level.

There’s not much to see at first glance.

A white bench is built into the wall. Several empty hooks poke out just to the right. On the left are built-in shelves, nearly empty, and a white ladder ascends into the open hatch.

I move to the shelves first, my hunger demanding an investigation. There’s a small box, white and ornate, that’s cracked open. I flip back the lid. It’s empty. Still, having container for food or water is a great find. It’s too big to tuck into my jeans, and my cotton shirt has no pockets so I tuck it under my arm for now. Hopefully I’ll find a bag to store it in, or maybe rope so I can make a strap.

The next item looks like…. like a….

I wait for the word to pop into my head.

A compass. It looks like a compass.

It’s round and, unsurprisingly, white. Blue glass, reminiscent of the sand, covers the top. Inside is a white bar hovering above a blue background. White little dashes run its circumference. It appears to be giving off a faint light, which is odd. I’m pretty sure compasses don’t do that.

I wonder if it works like the compasses I remember. Is it directional, or does it point at something specific, like a place or thing? I guess the only way to find out would be following it.

Either way, I tuck the compass into my white box. Considering that I have nothing but clothes and a locket to my name...actually not even a name, anything I find could prove useful.

With that in mind I turn to the final item on the shelf.

It’s….

Actually, I have no idea what it is.

I look at it from one angle, then another, but no helpful identification pops into my head. I can only assume that it’s something I’ve lost the memory of or that I’ve never come across. The best comparison I can give is that of a stick. It’s a fancy white stick.

It stretches from my finger to my elbow when I twist it toward me and it’s scoured with oddly shaped marks.

I tuck it under my arm with the box, planning to study everything thoroughly once I find provisions.

A cursory glance over the room confirms that there’s nothing else on this floor and my hunger refuses to wait, so I clumsily scale the ladder with my treasures.

The second floor is empty, nothing but white space and barren shelves. The third floor is the same. It doesn’t help that the far side is partially gone. I can clearly see the fine edge where something cut through.

It’s amazing how clean the cut is. And it’s…concerning. Whatever cut through the stone, I don’t want to meet it.

The thought has me climbing the ladder again, more frantically this time. I suddenly don’t want to be in this tower. It’s too clean, too empty, too perfectly destroyed.

I scramble up the final hatch, awkwardly maneuvering my finds as I kick off the final wrung. I huff when I nearly drop the stick, snagging it just before it tumbles down the shaft. A grin stretches my lips and I finally look around. My first thought is that there’s no ceiling, it’s just walls that come up to my knees and a clear view of the desert. The second thought is that half of the floor is gone, cut away. The last rips a scream from my throat because…

…because there’s a body up here.