<The top floor amber>

Pushing open the heavy, red rust mottled iron door on the top floor, hot air immediately emerged, and the twisting and melting scenery enveloped the body. The top floor was not the highest point, and a row of shining escalators hung down from the sky. The glittering metal was plated with layers of rust, and chloasma spread everywhere. Me said that he climbed up and went high, and only stayed for a few seconds to explore the way, thinking that if he hid on it, he would not be found.

From his point of view, he could only glimpse a corner, thinking that there should be a platform on it, and imagine lying there. Asked why Me had this thought, he said, "You won't be found here." He was thinking in his mind that if he was playing catch and hide, this would be a good place to hide. But isn't Me afraid of heights? So he never really went up there. It is likely to be a water tower, and there may be no place to stay. However, a second-grade elementary school child would not think so much.

In my memory, the top floor always smelled of rust, and it was easy to get all over the body. There was a news story about a dog that had been forgotten on the top floor of a community building, exposed to the sun to death, locked up in a closed open plaza, and the expanse of the sky didn't help it at all. I remember that the door structure of the top floor of the old apartment was a bolt type, there was a hole in the doorpost, even if the door was closed by the wind, it would not automatically lock unless someone moved the bolt to insert it into the hole. Seeing this news didn't touch any of my fearful memories. No one would be locked up on the top floor, and even if they did, it wasn't in this way.

Me's house lives on the sixth floor, and the top floor is the top floor. I rarely meet my neighbors on the top floor. It's like the extended balcony of his house. It's a place to escape the sweltering heat in the house before dinner in summer. The orange-red sunset, the comfortable cool breeze, the pale gray-blue sky, and the marshmallow-like white clouds, trampled the traffic overlooking the hustle and bustle. The adults at this time always had a satisfied lyrical smile on their faces, exuding gentle whispers like a lover's.

Especially when you protect the moon, "You can't refer to the moon...", it sounds like a warning to the children who are chasing the jubilant, not to destroy the impressionist time rendered by this oil paint brush, rather than an unprovoked curse. Adults walk in circles in the air, like exercising in a park, indulging in hypnotic memories of their own.

There is a photo taken on the top floor, a woman in a yellow elegant dress, surrounded by three children, one of the children did not look at the camera, squatted on the floor, lowered his head and slid the pull back. He was wearing dark blue suspenders like Brother Mario's, the boy was Me, and the touch of his fingers was the scorching heat of the sun rising from the softening floor.

Before the darkening night came, a rare moment of warm temperature, let the whole family immerse in a light yellow fantasy; it was neither alive nor dead, but sealed in eternal crystal amber .