“Go outside!”  Zachary’s mother pulled aside purple curtains and gestured theatrically at the window.  From where he sat on the floor, Zachary could see blue sky.

“But Lost is on,” he protested.

“Television will rot your brain.  You need fresh air,” she said.

Years later, Zachary’s television lay in a heap next to the ceiling fan, on what used to be the ceiling but was now the floor.  Zachary gazed down at blue emptiness through the skylight at his feet.  A good thing he’d been inside when the Inversion happened.  In the end, rotting his brain had saved his life.