Hall of Infinite Doors
You grip the rungs of the iron ladder and begin descending into the pit. The hole is smooth and precisely circular, the walls themselves emitting a bright, orange-red light more comfortably seen on glowing stove elements - but there is no heat, no deviation to the descent's blandly comfortable temperature. In fact, it's somewhat boring, and just as you're beginning to get tired of eternally descending into a smooth red abyss, the iron rung beneath your left foot cracks and pitches you down the endless shaft.
It gets dark quickly. Instantly is the better word: there is no sense of falling past a definite, illuminated barrier into a scene of total darkness, no receding ring of red light above, just a sudden absence of anything but the wind flying past your whipping hair and gravity churning the contents of your stomach. You reach terminal velocity before you can really conceive of it; you briefly think about reaching out and grabbing for the ladder, but in the pitch blackness, you have no way of knowing where it is or if it's even present anymore - and the thought of your entire body weight slamming onto your outstretched arms makes you limp with revulsion. But what else is there? The pit has to reach an end som-
SMACK!
You've landed. Not comfortably, but you've survived when all the laws of a sane universe should dictate otherwise. The light is still absent, but new information tickles your senses: there's a sound all around you, a bone-deep humming as well as the low, uneven in-and-out rumble of something's breathing. There is a smell, too, burning and fetid, as of an air conditioner desperately trying to compensate for someone who hasn't showered all year.
Then, like a sudden awakening, the lights jolt on. You almost wish they hadn't.
It gets dark quickly. Instantly is the better word: there is no sense of falling past a definite, illuminated barrier into a scene of total darkness, no receding ring of red light above, just a sudden absence of anything but the wind flying past your whipping hair and gravity churning the contents of your stomach. You reach terminal velocity before you can really conceive of it; you briefly think about reaching out and grabbing for the ladder, but in the pitch blackness, you have no way of knowing where it is or if it's even present anymore - and the thought of your entire body weight slamming onto your outstretched arms makes you limp with revulsion. But what else is there? The pit has to reach an end som-
SMACK!
You've landed. Not comfortably, but you've survived when all the laws of a sane universe should dictate otherwise. The light is still absent, but new information tickles your senses: there's a sound all around you, a bone-deep humming as well as the low, uneven in-and-out rumble of something's breathing. There is a smell, too, burning and fetid, as of an air conditioner desperately trying to compensate for someone who hasn't showered all year.
Then, like a sudden awakening, the lights jolt on. You almost wish they hadn't.