She kept a map on her wall. If you have her a blank paper with the outlines on continents, she could point out New Caledonia easily. It was an obsession.

And yet, Bree was stuck in her hometown. Her family never traveled, never bothered to even look into the happenings of one village over. And so she left.

Bree took all her things, put them in her new car, and left. She drove away from her sleepy father and sharkish mother, into the night, to see where the road took her.

It took her through a forest, but she couldn’t see anything out the window. Then along a highway for some time. Then to a town. By now, pinky-oranges where seeping above the treetops. Bree refilled her gas tank, and then stopped into the gas station. Except is wasn’t a gas station. The products were *alive,* but unidentifiable. The desk was bolted to the ceiling, no employee in sight, remnants of coffee dripping down onto the tile. This wasn’t explained by any of her maps.