It was really insufferable, when you got right down to it. The noises they made, skittering about under the floors, at all hours of the night. I don’t know what they’re doing down there. Are they mating? Playing tag? Are they lost?

Is there a tiny little city under there? Are the squeaks that emerge from the grates the tiny horn blasts of miniature cars? Every time I walk across the floor, does an earthquake level a home? Or a sky…well, floorscraper?

As my mind wanders and the skritches and scratches of the activities beneath my floorboards fade from my attention, I begin to doze. I dream of a world lit by fireflies. I dream of a world where the tallest skyscraper is eleven inches tall. Where miniature people huddle together as the sky rumbles and bits of dust rain destruction on the ground.

I wake up the next morning with dust in my hair and walk to work under a sky that threatens storms. As the rain begins to pour I remember that I’m in a flood plain, and wonder about Atlantis.