As the world drew its last breath, Anitta was only trying to breathe. Istanbul's last breath smelled of acid. Burnt plastic, melted asphalt, steaming sea, all of it dissolving into the sky. Her lungs refused the air, but she knew, with a bitter clarity, that there was no other choice. If she did not want to die, she had to breathe.
She was running down the avenue, but her feet seemed lifted from the ground. The concrete had softened, turned into a heavy mud that swallowed each step. The longer she ran, the shorter her breath grew, the tighter her chest became. While the world collapsed around her, she forced herself to look only forward, at a single point.
Ahead of her, her mother's silhouette trembled; its outline rippled, dissolved in the smoke, and disappeared. In that moment a sentence her grandmother had spoken to her in childhood, when she was afraid of the dark, fell like a spark into her mind: "Find your way in the darkness." Now the darkness was everywhere. But where was the way? She did not know.