CEILING DEBRIS

Your foot kicks against some debris, and you realize you’ve come to a stop under the partially collapsed section of ceiling. You look up into the dark crevice, half-listening for the scratching sound of a nesting animal as the darkness yawns above you. You do hear something, not scratching though, not quite. Instead, from the shadows you hear whispers, soft murmurings that slowly resolve into voices, voices you recognize whispering your name with even more recognizable disdain. You hear them laughing at you, at your work. You’re a joke to them and always have been. A professor? By luck alone no doubt. Why wouldn’t they be laughing? The whispers stop as you fall away from the hole, back over the debris and you realize you’re gasping on deep, shuddering breaths. You turn your back to the crevice and your companions, taking a moment to collect yourself and make a mental note to stay away from that spot. You rub at the sensation of frost on your limbs as you hurry away.