Well, she thinks. I believe I’ve waited long enough. Sticky Rose name problem solved, there’s no excuses left. Time to go into the hole. Just a short gondola ride away via that cable line over there.
—–
Soon she was in the gift shop, not very grossed out atall so far. She, like many others before her, found the fleshy environment, let’s say, kinda comforting actually. Like crawling back into the womb or sumtin. And there’s that hum, like an abstracted, dumbed down lullaby. Some find it unsettling. Not her. She’s one of the gifted ones; one of the people that could succeed down here (the pit thinks for her). She purchases a small yet expensive book about one of its many “grotesque,” flesh dependent creatures and moves on.
At the end of the 4th and last corridor to this entry level: dead end, with ominous tones beyond even for her, the gifted and perhaps the damned if she proceeds. Dare she jump over the barrier and experience the flesh directly beneath her feet, squish squish squish? Tempting… tempting!
Then she thinks of the deaths, and wonders why they don’t get that much publicity beyond scattered reports here and there in the media, seeming to almost treat them like jokes when they do pop up. The cover-up must go way up, she realizes, all the way to the president perhaps, a man soon to be named G. Cleveland if things go terribly wrong and time loops back on itself, mirroring what happened in the late 1800s. Best to stay down here until it all blows over, she decides. If she jumps over this barricade, maybe she can find a safe place to hide deeper down in the pit.
And this, of course, is where everything (first?) goes terribly wrong. For Rose Emily.
Sunklands 