An rose onto his toes, peering into the shimmering heat haze. He expected to see the top of the church - but it wasn’t there. Only wavering air. No surprise.

  He started walking.

  At the first row of houses, people stepped out onto the street. They simply stood there and watched.

  The shop clerk who sold alcohol to anyone.The drunken locksmith who had beaten three children to death with a wrench.A man with a leering gaze - a lover of schoolkids, whom An had once escaped by sheer luck. His cssmate hadn’t.

  They watched in silence. As always.

  An quickened his pace, trying not to lift his head. He knew who else he might meet.

  A woman with curly bck hair stood at the edge of the road. In her hands - a peony in full bloom. She had died of cancer. An hadn’t gone to her funeral. Had never once visited her grave.

  When was that?

  As he passed her, he braced for a blow. Waited for her to scream. But, as always, no one touched him. He crossed the intersection - and felt relief. He couldn’t make himself breathe… though today he had already been breathing.

  Where the abandoned library had once stood was a neat wooden kiosk. It was supposed to be there.

  Its “here” had arrived.

  Behind the kiosk rose a dense wall of trees, blocking the view. Inside sat a young man, reading papers. An stopped. He understood: the purpose of his work was here.

  “ - Ahem,” he coughed.

  The sound of his own voice stunned him. The man behind the counter looked up.

  “What?” he asked rudely.

  An sensed in him the same thing he had felt in the women behind the counter. And something else as well, carefully concealed. Nervousness. Irritation.

  “I was sent to check,” An said. “Standard procedure.”

  The words came with difficulty; his voice was dry and strange. But he was speaking himself. Not automatically.

  “Everything’s fine here!” the man snapped. “There’s nothing to check! Everything’s the same as always!”

  He tried to go back to reading. An took a golden rod from its case. Today it felt too light. The rod was covered in engraved patterns - snakes, leaves, stars. When the man saw it, he sprang to his feet.

  “You think we want to sit here forever?!” he shouted. “No promotions! No way out!”

  The kiosk began to shake. The air rippled. The world tore open.

  Instead of the kiosk and trees, a gigantic vortex the color of dry cy spun all the way to the horizon. The horizon itself bent strangely upward toward the sky. The air filled with a distant roar - as if thousands of people were speaking, howling, crying all at once.

  “I only took fifty-seven!” the “kiosk clerk” yelled. “A speck of dust!”

  And he stepped into the vortex.

  Gone.

  An was left alone.

  He dropped to one knee and plunged the rod into the edge of the vortex. The ground trembled. The air filled with dust. His body shook; his hands went numb; his muscles burned.

  He didn’t know how it worked. But he knew that he had to do it.

  He prayed - for the first time in an eternity.

  And then a man appeared beside him, dressed in a long white robe. The hurricane did not touch him. A cool hand settled over An’s hands.

  Everything went dark.