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PULL ROPE
The rope resists momentarily. You lean into it, grip almost slipping before the rope gives completely.
There is a loud crack above, as if a door has been ripped of its hinges. The floor rocks forward, then back, like a boat on waves. You steady yourself.
It begins to rain. Warm drops pepper the floor, strike your face. The rain falls more heavily, nearly torrential. You try to scramble away for relief, feet slipping on the wet floor.
The ceiling abruptly shudders, a deep resevoir opening or breaking and the water rushing through. A cascade of water falls and smacks you square in the back. You cannot breathe.
Your body washes away some distance. The cascade starts to slow, then stop. The water disperses throughout the area of this place, leaving the floor submerged only by a few inches. You splutter, hacking up water.
The rain slows to a measured pace, neither heavily nor light. Coughing once more and wiping spittle from your mouth, you sit up. Thankfully, you seem alright.
Where do you go?
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