Spiderweb cracks run through the pane glass window. It's aching from the pressure of the rainwater that's crept nearly to the top of the window frame. It's waiting by the window, watching you as you study the cracks. Your heart is racing but you touch your finger against the glass.
It didn't even make a sound.
You're plunged into deafness as the rainwater pulls you under and everything is swirling around you. Glass, pieces of furniture, books--they all scrape your vision as you struggle to find something, anything to hold onto. You catch the sound of a heaving groan, like something being crushed.
The rainwater spits you out, and you crumble into a heap. A searing pain climbs up your arm but when you grope for it you realize it's no longer there. You sit, clutching the stump, waiting for your head to stop swimming. When you look, there's nothing. The underground is gone. It is gone. You can see nothing else.