The first thing that I notice are the colors.
Rainbow packets line the decaying shelves, and vivid posters are stuck to the crumbling walls.
Rotting food crumbs litter the cracked tiled floor.
The aisles are HUGE. It takes me nearly 4 minutes just to walk down one without stopping. Occasionally, I find some food that hasn't expired, and I throw that into my bag.
After nearly an hour in this place, I find the medical section. I grab a handful of bandage rolls, some aspirins and and some of those little scissor things.
I glance down at my wound.
Oh, shoot.
Blood has started to seep through the bandage, and has dripped down to my ankle. When I lean down to poke it, it sends a nasty jolt of pain throughout my body.
I guess if I want to change the bandage, now is the time to do so.
I sit down, and extend my wounded leg. Grabbing the scissors, I carefully cut the cloth off.
The scratch looks relatively clean, but as I have found out, looks can be deceiving.
Reaching up, I grab a wet wipe to clean off the blood. It's stopped flowing out, but it's still dripping.
After an agonizing 15 minutes, I have finally cleaned and bandaged my leg.
To pull myself up, I grab a shelf and use that as support.
BOOM! Turns out, the shelf wasn't sturdy.
It collapsed, throwing boxes and packets across the ground. Bottles smashed, pouring weird liquids across the ground.
'Meh.' I think to myself.
It's not as if anyone else is alive to come here.
Limping, I walk over the debris.
On my way out, I pick up a new rug sack and some new clothes.
After finally finding my way out of the maze of aisles, I reach the door.
Then I drop my bag.
I painfully crouch down to get it, turning my back to the door.
That's when I hear it.
"Dani, is that you?"