Depths

Ground floor. The world I knew, just as I left it when I stepped across this godawful House's threshold. Floor four. The world outside is different. The smog is thicker, the buildings taller. A speckled ring splits the night sky, its rapid pirouette betraying its greater proximity than any star. Floor eight. Fire and death. Nauseated and filled with dread, I turn back. Floor negative four. Less urban development outside. If I look far enough, I can see the kind of car my grandpa used to drive around. Dread is replaced by a mix of excitement and cosmic fear, as though I've discovered something revolutionary, but forbidden by some great arbiter. Floors negative eight through negative twenty-four serve to bolster my hypothesis.