Through the Slit

Green. Too bright, burning lime green across my eyes. The column was stuck half a stud back, just enough room. I shoved my shoulder into the gap, rigid body grinding sideways against the jagged brick seam until my boots snapped onto neon green studs. A whole new corridor. Green floor, green walls, green ceiling studs repeating forever into the haze. But on the floor right at the threshold sat a flat 2x2 round white turntable tile, spinning freely on its own central pin. I crouched, touching the slick disc with my palm. It spins without stopping. Yellow pin tucked into my belt, red plate safe in my grip. I am definitely not in the pool rooms anymore.