I didn't sleep last night. Now that my claustrophobia has something to hang on, I feel like I'm being crushed. There's nowhere to go.
This morning, I decided to walk away from the furrow. I didn't know whether it would help, whether it would break me out of the loop, but I wanted to try. I left the camp where it was; I didn't see any point in packing it up, and I could always come back if I needed to. I turned my back on the furrow and started walking. Nothing changed. The furrow and the camp disappeared into the distance; hours after that, I stopped for a late lunch. I stared at the grey soil, at the bare bushes. It was the same bleak terrain I'd been seeing day after day. I'd been walking for hours, and I'd found nothing. I decided to turn around. I thought I'd be back just before dark. I could set out again in the morning with full equipment.
I'd been walking for five minutes before I saw a shape on the horizon. A few minutes later, I could make it out. The camp. I was barely an hour away. I felt myself starting to shake, and the feeling of being trapped overwhelmed me. I made it back and collapsed onto the dirt. I heard footsteps, and pushed myself up to look. It was Melanie, sitting ten feet away from me. She was dirty, and covered in cuts and bruises. She stared intently at the ground between us. I tried speaking to her, but she didn't reply.
What if there's no way out?