Through the Slopes

The gap between the black slopes was tight, but I squeezed through sideways, plastic scraping plastic until my feet clicked down onto lower tiles. Not air whistling—vibration. A hollow chamber made entirely of glossy black bricks, but lower down, the floor drops into a sunken pit lined with transparent blue 1x2 plates mimicking still water. I crouched, touching the cold surface with my hand. Beneath the clear blue studs, a row of bright yellow technic pins lay submerged, trapped in the grid. I pressed my red plate against the slick wall to leave a mark. The black didn't end, but the blue is here now. Still searching.