The world was ending, or so it seemed, unless you somehow lived through the next few days. My memory of specific events is hazy, but my feelings about them are strong.
We were putting things that we wanted to save into a pit in the ground, although it seemed that the very earth itself were collapsing. I could not decide whether I would save my favorite stuffed animals by putting them into the pit or keeping them with me, or which ones to save, although my destination may have been the pit.
I heard that it had fallen in and become subdivided and very crowded with people. But I had found myself in the cave-like home of a wealthy woman, who was away, at her behest. It seemed like a magical place. The entry, which was impregnable, was in an alcove formed in part by a natural pillar. Everything about this fascinated me—the door, the lighting, the pillar.
My memory is so faulty, or my perception so unclear, that i don't know if the pit was part of this else or was located elsewhere, but I know that, although I had the woman's permission, I was not supposed to be there. As long as I remained there, I was deceiving a friend, who would think was I was the woman until either I emerged or she returned. I hated to leave the safety and wonder of the alcove and the magic of the place . . .