|Game 3||Game 3 Outline|
... a white porcelain sink.
You land hard in what, at your scale, is about an inch of filthy water. You stand up, rub your butt, and shout "Hey!"... You wanted to say something else, but are too dumbfounded to think of anything.
The monstrous face with the black hair looks back at you, softly but firmly. "You reporters are all the same! You have no right to be here. Why can't you leave us alone?" She pauses for a moment; you gather your breath to shout again, but she resumes, "Now, stay there until I figure out what to do with you!"
"Hey!" you call, again, at the top of your lungs, much too quietly. The woman's receding back makes no reply.
Bewildered, you stand there blinking for a few seconds. Then you examine your posessions: Your camera was jolted, but your body absorbed most of the shock; you snap a picture of the medicine cabinet, far above, to make sure it still works. Your wallet has all its usual contents, none of which are the slightest use to you. Your jacket, at least, will be handy.
When you've finished looking yourself over, you take stock of your surroundings. To the back of the sink is the drain; you might fit down it, but that's too horrible to contemplate, and you'd suffocate down there anyway. About ten times your height above your head, like a construction crane, is the tap.
As you stare at it, a bulb of water slowly grows... Entranced, you look at it through the telephoto lens. It gets larger, larger.... You snap a picture just as it breaks free. The sound of it landing is eery and loud, and it echoes slightly.
Tearing your attention away from the water, you look at the walls ... walls? The sides of the sink. They're dry in places, but patently unclimbable. You begin to realize how badly you are trapped.
Not wanting to sit down and make your clothes any smellier than they already are, you turn around slowly, walking from corner to corner. You do lose your footing and get wet a few more times - it's surprising how slippery porcelain can be. You think you must be about an inch tall; the thought seems horrifyingly real.
Written by Irene Lew (edited by wanderer)
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