The Room of a Thousand Suns

Adorned on walls of lackluster lemon and dried apricot are hundreds upon hundreds of suns. Some are metal, some are paintings; others are nothing, some scream everything. 

However; the room is not bright; in fact, it is somehow darker. 

Some have faces; blissful and serene life soldiers graced with neutrality, waiting for orders from a golden godly being to display hauntingly vivid brightness. Others are entirely blank and unforgiving. 

In the center of the room, amid many suns of lesser sizes is one grand sun, spanning thirty feet across. It is like a king among peasants; gilded in copper with silver and gold spindles. 

The sun has no face, yet is somehow more powerful and has more expression. It is regal and exudes character. 

As the sun entices those who have dared to wander, the room begins to shake violently, knocking some suns off the walls. 

The paint begins to peel revealing grotesquely blackened wood. 

Thin, maroon rivets of blood being to race from the grand sun to the solidarity that is the meeting of the wall and the floor. The sun begins to stain from wine like tears. 

A light humming is heard briefly as the red rivets begin to pool in the middle of the floor. The sound of the rattling, pooling rivets is unsettling, unnerving. Suns lay scattered about as the shaking finally ceases and the room is cloaked in eerie silence. 

Suddenly the floor opens up in the middle of the room. A devoid, ebony pit begins to eat up the remaining floor as hundreds of suns fall into the abyss. 

Finally, the pit reaches the wall with a crunch. Everything is still for a moment until the grand sun falls from its place on the wall and slowly starts to rust and decay as it mercilessly drops into the pit. 

No thud is heard.