text: [Themes: Horror, Science Fiction, sea, mystery, unreliable narrator, amnesia]
  
  > Look around
  You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade
  is down, and the front door firmly shut.
  
  The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.
  
  Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.
  
  On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
  
  You can see some sand here.
  
  > look at the mirror
  The far side of the mirror is just as shadowy as this one. It's probably meant as commentary; not more space, just more of the same.
  
  > look at the computer
  You sit down at the desk.
  
  The computer is years old, and incompatible with just about everything but electricity. You use it for writing -- at least, you try to
  believe that you do.
  
  -- the only kind of game your beige antique can run, anyway.
  
  The you-have-died message is blinking morosely at you. You started up Ready, Okay! last night, trying to distract yourself until
  morning. But you can't get even halfway through without running out of insulin.
  
  > play the game
  You've tried everything you can think of twice, and you're tired of trying. Maybe an idea will come to you later.
  
  The radio begins playing an Austro-Andean fugue.
  
  > turn off the computer
  You hit the power key; the computer gives a tiny sigh and shuts down.
  
  > look at the crate
  The crate your computer arrived in. It's dented and disreputable now, but still serves the time-honored purpose of holding your stereo up.
  
  > stand
  You stand up.
  
  > Vacuum
  You squeeze the handle, and the vacuum cleaner begins humming, albeit with a bit of a whine. You run it back and forth on the floor. But it only seems to spread the sand around. In fact, it looks like there's more sand than before you started.
  
  The radio begins playing a calm Atlantean (?) song.
  
  > open the vacuum
  You pop open the vacuum cleaner's casing. Sand spills out -- all over the floor. What the hell?
  
  The stereo clicks as a calm Atlantean (?) song ends and the hourly
  news comes on. What? Morning must have arrived, although the world outside is still dark. The taxi should be showing up soon.
  
  > examine the closet
  The closet is a shallow recess next to the bathroom. Peering into the depths, you see an old jacket.
  
  "More allegations of campaign finance misconduct..." (Oh, fascinating news day.)
  
  > examine the jacket
  Your jacket hangs in the closet. This is, of course, your old
  jacket -- vaguely waterproof but definitely ratty -- suitable only for errands around the city. Your new jacket, windproof
  weatherproof sandproof Xoron(tm), suitable for desert hiking, is
  neatly packed away in your luggage.
  
  (Not that luggage is the important part. The experience is supposed to be transformative. And, frankly, you're in need of transformation. Another month of this and you'll indistinguishable from this apartment -- beige, featureless, and up for cheap rent. At the Death Valley Om, they say, you may be sunburnt and thirsty and exhausted, but you're alive. Nothing sounds better. You're planning to try the solo Zen
  night hiking.)
  
  "Sharp words between the superpowers today..." (Huh? There are still superpowers?)
  
  > examine the kitchen
  The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.
  
  "Three people reported missing at the Death Valley Om in
  California..." (Hang on.) "The popular desert arts festival was shaken yesterday when three attendees failed to return from moonlight hikes. State police are searching the area." (You resolve to read that desert camping book one more time.)
  
  > look at the fridge
  It's yellow. Beyond that, it looks like every other refrigerator in
  the United States.
  
  It must be morning, after all -- your metabolism is starting to
  ratchet up to daytime levels.
  
  "In the business pages, stocks are down..." (You once again lose interest.)
  
  > open it
  You step into the kitchen nook.
  
  You open the refrigerator, revealing a jar of peanut butter.
  
  You're definitely getting hungry.
  
  "And that's, um... far out. Back to the groove, folks," and an Antarcto-Hmong fugue begins.
  
  > open it
  You unscrew the lid... with an unexpected grating sound. Something sifts to the floor.
  
  The peanut butter jar is full of sand.
  
  > look in jar
  The jar is open, but it contains no peanut butter. Instead, it is packed with sand.
  
  > drop the jar
  Dropped (in the kitchen nook).
  
  The fridge door swings shut.
  
  The radio begins playing a Sino-Hmong song.
  
  > open the stove
  That's not something you can open.
  
  Your stomach rumbles.
  
  > open the cupboard
  You open the cupboard, revealing a box of crackers.
  
  > open the crackers
  You pull on the box top. It's stuck, somehow. You yank --
  
  The top tears away, and white sand sprays out of the box.
  
  This is getting to be too much. You consider which of your friends might have snuck in here and set all of this up. No... mmm... nobody, really.
  
  > examine the list
  You step out of the kitchen nook, and sit down at the desk.
  
  items and scribbled corrections. Dammit, yet another item you missed
  -- you have to water the plant.
  
  > turn on the bathroom sink
  You stand up, and step into the bathroom nook.
  
  With an eerie hiss, dry white sand boils from the faucet. You yank at the tap, but the bathroom sink is already full, and sand spilling on the floor.
  
  The radio begins playing an Austro-Andean tune.
  
  > turn on the kitchen sink
  You step out of the bathroom nook, and step into the kitchen nook.
  
  With an eerie hiss, dry white sand boils from the faucet. You yank at the tap, but the kitchen sink is already full, and sand spilling on
  the floor.
  
  > examine the plant
  This plant is your one claim to actual responsibility. The spider
  plant sits by the window, soaking up sunlight (when it's not night)
  and managing to thrive despite your lack of gardening skill. Although it looks very dry.
  
  > open the fridge
  You open the refrigerator.
  
  > look in it
  The refrigerator is empty.
  
  The radio begins playing a repetitive Slavic melody.
  
  > close it
  You close the refrigerator.
  
  > open the door
  Which do you mean, the front door or the closet?
  
  > Front
  You step out of the kitchen nook.
  
  The sun hasn't risen; what light you have would just leak out into the night. Anyway, the taxi hasn't arrived, so there's nowhere to go.
  
  > examine the futon
  The futon is definitely on the downhill side of life's rolling knolls. It serves as both couch and bed, if inadequately in each case, which makes it the most important piece of furniture you own.
  
  > look under it
  You bend down, and see little but a bit of sand.
  
  The radio begins playing a Balto-Hmong tune.
  
  > sit on the futon
  You sit down.