Ladies We Are Floating in Space
by Hannah Gregory

Michael & Olivia

When the realtor brought us into the living room, we couldn’t help but notice the hole in the floor, roped off by orange traffic cones and yellow caution tape. There was also this… not sure about the best way to describe it… a blood-curdling scream coming from the hole? Which—if we’re being honest here—we both found a little distracting. The realtor pointed out the old push-button light switch, turning a fixtureless light bulb hanging naked from the ceiling on-and-off, on-and-off, just to prove to us that it worked and added to the charm of the whole place. We asked him what’s with the hole in the floor, the screams rattling in our heads, beginning to feel like they were our own screams, twisting and breaking us over-and-over for eternity. He waved his arm over the hole and was like, Oh, that thing? We leaned our heads over the tape and saw that the hole continued into the basement. In the basement, there was a deeper hole that was… well, it looked like someone dropped a bucket of Hole Paint on the concrete floor, but it also looked like the hole just kept falling into infinite, you know, hole-ness.