Uchromia | bloc 3

Opening the door to this site there are no visible walls and the polished parquetry gleams. Its surface warps up in obvious smooth curve. My steps slope down for no foothold.




I still hear the street motors and mouths outside. "Don't look out at us or you know what's going to happen"




Sounds like the pigs getting all yards at someone.




I still can't see any walls. The ceiling holds much water it sags and only the paint coats hold in the attic volume. I imagine some wild arrival at Ithaca falling through.




I'm the ride, relating this room. Back outside a threat waits impatiently. I've no idea what the ceiling is holding in its waters. I can't walk with much grip. The floor keeps going and there's no walls around me bar the entry that from here would be eternal.




But don't-look-out came from behind me. I think I've been nabbed before a word's been spoken.