An old art installation lies at the bottom of a living complex. None have seen it but the artist himself.
It's said to be a symphonic dance of metals twisted around the room, oxidized thanks to complete lack of treatment. On the contrary, they were mistreated the moment they cooled from the forge. He threw water at them, beat them with pickaxes, and gave them no coating to protect against decay.
It's said that this piece's fusion of power and loss would bring a great sense of mortality to those who see it. It would strike them in just the same way that their parents' deaths would.
The artist vehemently disagrees.
In fact, he insists nothing's down there.
In fact, once again, no-one's been down there.
"It's an empty room!" he throws his hands skyward, "There's nothing down there! I don't know why everyone's so insistent on there being some grandiose fucking beauty in a room they've never been in-- that nothing's ever been in! They just want to make shit up to provide some satisfaction. They want to know, but not being allowed just drives them fucking crazy. It's annoying!"
It took a lot of convincing for him to let me see for myself. It's funny; I can't even remember what was down there.