optical illusion.

I step into the lift, and immediately, look up to the about twenty centimetres wide silvery mirror that lined the top edges of the elavator. The doors close behind me. Still looking up into the reflective plane, I see the two anti-claustraphobia glass panels of the lift doors and the space beyond it. Somebody presses the button - twenty-four. The elavator gathers energy. It moves. But, rather than seeing each level shooting downward through the panels, the mirror inverted it, and the shadows of the outside passed upwards, such that the lift sank, twenty-four floors down...