The elevator did not have a button for floor 5. She hadn’t even noticed it until she actually had to press the button for the 5th floor. She reached into her tan Coach bag and pulled out the business card. She wanted to make sure she was at the right place. Yep, this was the correct address and it clearly says 5th floor. What gives? Maybe it was one of those situations where 1 equals 2, 2 equals 3 and so on and so forth.
The buttons were in chronological order on the panel. There was a blank button where the number 5 should be. Her curiosity was getting the best of her. She didn’t notice a warning sign or anything saying not to press the blank button. She paused and said a little prayer. She closed her eyes and her forefinger pressed firmly against the shiny button.
The elevator began to slowly move. She started to panic, but it was too late. There was nothing she could do to stop it. She was already on the 1st floor, so why was the elevator going down instead of up? She banged on the door and screamed at the top of her lungs. Her screams for help went unheard. She knew no one would hear her, but screaming was an automatic response to the anxiety and fear she felt.
As the elevator plunged deeper and deeper down into the pit of darkness, she stopped screaming. As long as she was in the elevator, she figured she was safe. She began to pray again and hoped that the elevator would just keep plunging and not stop. Ever. If it stopped, ain’t no telling what she would encounter once the doors opened. If it just kept moving indefinitely, then for some strange reason she felt she would be protected from whatever was lurking on the other side of the elevator doors. As she was getting lost in her thoughts, the elevator stopped. A single tear traveled down her cheek.
This was it. Her life was over and she was sure death was knocking. She knew it was unrealistic to think that an elevator would just keep going and going but it’s also unrealistic to be in an elevator that went down instead of up when it’s already on the first floor. She thought about her day thus far and she wished she never had that stupid argument with her mom earlier. Given her current situation, it was such a petty argument. She began to think back to all that she had taken for granted and realized if she made it out alive, that things would be different.
Movement on the other side of the doors interrupted her thoughts. She was sweating and trembling. The whole ordeal scared her, but nothing could have prepared her for what was about to happen. She didn’t know what it was, but she was about to find out. The doors opened and she was blinded by the light.
Room 507, Hotel Vertigo, 940 Sutter Street, San Francisco
The awning captures a soft glow, drawing me into its tunnel. I spin off balance into the deserted lobby. The streets downtown were full of madmen, psychos, freaks and I felt their hammers and chisels banging inside my head. This side of Nob Hill––a safe haven from the fiendish bars––suggested a quiet oasis. The concierge barred any unauthorized hooligans into my pied-à-terre but I knew they were still after me––the men who knew too much.
I feel like I’ve slipped through a passage to a psychotic Wonderland. The front windows, strikingly sedate from under the portico, now appear haughty and audacious. Gracefully arched, they seem extremely narrow due to their absurd height. The ceiling whirls into a vast vacuum. The draperies suspend from the stratosphere in lengths of Martian orange. Five white cubed pedestals, arranged in the window, pose five white porcelain sculptures: the bust of a Baroque maiden; a leggy flamingo; a plumed pheasant; a horse head with crowning mane; and a greyhound, ripples of spine ridged down its back. They catch me off guard. An expansive desk props up a female who appears to emit sounds of distress, even screaming, through her perfectly straight white teeth. Her loony grin and striped shirt hover over the high desk like a cat levitating on a tree limb. Clearly the woman is mad, so I must be mad too or else I wouldn’t have come here. Above her, a blonde woman runs up a squared spiral stairway that seems to rise infinitely. I am spellbound and cease to try to understand the voices. Then, the lady vanishes and the projection becomes orange and black, rotating violently into a vigorous vortex. A large eye appears, blinking at intervals.
I’m in a frenzy from the tableau. The lounge is lined by a massive white vinyl settee with an absurdly high backing in orange brocade bracketed by engulfing angel wings and white furry poofs. I have a suspicion that a White Rabbit may pop out at any moment, hop down in front of me and make a deep bow, while exclaiming its lateness. Below the birds roosting in the rafters, there is a slice from a centuries old redwood, glazed in a thick sap of varnish and fashioned into a table fit for a Mad Hatter’s tea party.
I spy a set of doors through which I hope to make my retreat, but find they are sans handles. On the wall there is a glowing topaz disc of light. I press it, to promote my escape from this madness. Ding. The doors slide open. Ding. The doors slide closed. I push the button again. Ding. The doors slide open. Slide closed. Ding. Slide open. Ding. Closed. Ding. Open. The little men in my head encourage me to enter. Ding. The doors slide closed. At once I feel claustrophobic and gigantic after the spaciousness of the lounge. The walls are covered in the same orange brocade as the enormous sofa. To the left of the sliding doors is a brushed metal panel of buttons labeled L 2 3 4 6. The elevator did not have a button for floor five.
Nikki: I like the character's growing hysteria. It made me wonder if she was anxious about elevators in general or if her fears were justified. The final line seems to indicate the latter. ;-)
Victoria: Ha! The last line. Very creative. Way to make the prompt your own!
Sunday, July 21, 2013 at 4:00AM
Reader Comments (4)
The elevator did not have a button for floor 5. She hadn’t even noticed it until she actually had to press the button for the 5th floor. She reached into her tan Coach bag and pulled out the business card. She wanted to make sure she was at the right place. Yep, this was the correct address and it clearly says 5th floor. What gives? Maybe it was one of those situations where 1 equals 2, 2 equals 3 and so on and so forth.
The buttons were in chronological order on the panel. There was a blank button where the number 5 should be. Her curiosity was getting the best of her. She didn’t notice a warning sign or anything saying not to press the blank button. She paused and said a little prayer. She closed her eyes and her forefinger pressed firmly against the shiny button.
The elevator began to slowly move. She started to panic, but it was too late. There was nothing she could do to stop it. She was already on the 1st floor, so why was the elevator going down instead of up? She banged on the door and screamed at the top of her lungs. Her screams for help went unheard. She knew no one would hear her, but screaming was an automatic response to the anxiety and fear she felt.
As the elevator plunged deeper and deeper down into the pit of darkness, she stopped screaming. As long as she was in the elevator, she figured she was safe. She began to pray again and hoped that the elevator would just keep plunging and not stop. Ever. If it stopped, ain’t no telling what she would encounter once the doors opened. If it just kept moving indefinitely, then for some strange reason she felt she would be protected from whatever was lurking on the other side of the elevator doors. As she was getting lost in her thoughts, the elevator stopped. A single tear traveled down her cheek.
This was it. Her life was over and she was sure death was knocking. She knew it was unrealistic to think that an elevator would just keep going and going but it’s also unrealistic to be in an elevator that went down instead of up when it’s already on the first floor. She thought about her day thus far and she wished she never had that stupid argument with her mom earlier. Given her current situation, it was such a petty argument. She began to think back to all that she had taken for granted and realized if she made it out alive, that things would be different.
Movement on the other side of the doors interrupted her thoughts. She was sweating and trembling. The whole ordeal scared her, but nothing could have prepared her for what was about to happen. She didn’t know what it was, but she was about to find out. The doors opened and she was blinded by the light.
Room 507, Hotel Vertigo, 940 Sutter Street, San Francisco
The awning captures a soft glow, drawing me into its tunnel. I spin off balance into the deserted lobby. The streets downtown were full of madmen, psychos, freaks and I felt their hammers and chisels banging inside my head. This side of Nob Hill––a safe haven from the fiendish bars––suggested a quiet oasis. The concierge barred any unauthorized hooligans into my pied-à-terre but I knew they were still after me––the men who knew too much.
I feel like I’ve slipped through a passage to a psychotic Wonderland. The front windows, strikingly sedate from under the portico, now appear haughty and audacious. Gracefully arched, they seem extremely narrow due to their absurd height. The ceiling whirls into a vast vacuum. The draperies suspend from the stratosphere in lengths of Martian orange. Five white cubed pedestals, arranged in the window, pose five white porcelain sculptures: the bust of a Baroque maiden; a leggy flamingo; a plumed pheasant; a horse head with crowning mane; and a greyhound, ripples of spine ridged down its back. They catch me off guard. An expansive desk props up a female who appears to emit sounds of distress, even screaming, through her perfectly straight white teeth. Her loony grin and striped shirt hover over the high desk like a cat levitating on a tree limb. Clearly the woman is mad, so I must be mad too or else I wouldn’t have come here. Above her, a blonde woman runs up a squared spiral stairway that seems to rise infinitely. I am spellbound and cease to try to understand the voices. Then, the lady vanishes and the projection becomes orange and black, rotating violently into a vigorous vortex. A large eye appears, blinking at intervals.
I’m in a frenzy from the tableau. The lounge is lined by a massive white vinyl settee with an absurdly high backing in orange brocade bracketed by engulfing angel wings and white furry poofs. I have a suspicion that a White Rabbit may pop out at any moment, hop down in front of me and make a deep bow, while exclaiming its lateness. Below the birds roosting in the rafters, there is a slice from a centuries old redwood, glazed in a thick sap of varnish and fashioned into a table fit for a Mad Hatter’s tea party.
I spy a set of doors through which I hope to make my retreat, but find they are sans handles. On the wall there is a glowing topaz disc of light. I press it, to promote my escape from this madness.
Ding.
The doors slide open.
Ding.
The doors slide closed. I push the button again.
Ding.
The doors slide open.
Slide closed.
Ding.
Slide open.
Ding.
Closed.
Ding.
Open.
The little men in my head encourage me to enter.
Ding.
The doors slide closed.
At once I feel claustrophobic and gigantic after the spaciousness of the lounge. The walls are covered in the same orange brocade as the enormous sofa. To the left of the sliding doors is a brushed metal panel of buttons labeled L 2 3 4 6.
The elevator did not have a button for floor five.
Nikki: I like the character's growing hysteria. It made me wonder if she was anxious about elevators in general or if her fears were justified. The final line seems to indicate the latter. ;-)
Victoria: Ha! The last line. Very creative. Way to make the prompt your own!
Thx for the feedback Brandon! I'm
a work in progress and this helps get my creative juices flowing and I need all the help I can get! Lol