Justice's Vision

From Animorphs #41: The Familiar by K.A. Applegate 

Justice handed his canvas to me.
"What do you think?"
The image was divided diagonally, from the lower left corner to upper right. Below that line was an expressionist nightmare. A dark, angular city. Jutting, steel-gray towers rising through a bloodred mist. A fog from which arms and screaming, agonized faces reached in vain for a sky they couldn't see. 
Above the diagonal demarcation was a different world. A cloudless, blue-skied landscape. In the sky hovered a hot-air balloon, stark-white, like a sun. Extending from the balloon's gondola, crossing over from the joyful sky to the dismal, urban abyss was a rope.
A cord, thin as thread. 
On this rope were people, traveling upward, pinned to the thread like clothes on a laundry line. 
And as they crossed the border between darkness and light, faces stiff with frustration and rage softened. There were no smiles, but there were expressions of hope.