Swaraj jain

Stuck in the elevator

Convulsing aggressively, the elevator grinds to a halt, and with it, my heart. The twinkling yellow
bulb fuses out, enveloping me in a shroud of darkness. Wedged between two floors, the metal
tank is in a reluctant state of inertia. A dim white light diffracts through the slender slit between
the metallic, rusty doors of the elevator, just enough to see my grimy reflection on the silver-
coated walls. Flecks of sweat map my grimy face, and all around my temple. I have tousled hair
and circles under my bloodshot eyes. My fingernails are stubbed from gnawing at the metallic
walls. Panic and fear seem to drive me into a deranged state of paralysis. My pupils dilate in the
darkness and my breath becomes sharp and deep. Hot flushes of terror overwhelm me as blood
pounds inside my ears. Fear starts creeping in as the realization of the elevator being stuck
finally settles within me.

I bash the drab aluminium walls like a mallet striking metal, causing grey soot to gust out as if
they were ashes. Failing, I resort to shrieks for help, resulting in nothing but far-flung echoes
and a swarm of dust entering my mouth and sucking out the moisture like a vacuum cleaner. A
confusing stampede of emotions and panic makes my eyes black out, blurring my vision and
rendering me unable to contemplate anything around me. Constant waves of claustrophobia
propagate throughout, suffocating me as if a python were clasping my throat. The veins in my
head spur to pop out, and my brain pulsates, gushes of piping hot blood flowing through it.

The pungent smell of wet cement trickles through the top and into my nose as I snap back to
reality. A frosty bead of sweat oozes down my spine, creating a feeling of horror along with
anxiety. I smack the buttons hoping to hear the shrill, blaring sound of a siren, only to hear a
deafening silence. A ghastly, smoky whiteness blankets the natural brown of my skin. Despite
having moved an inch, I find myself out of breath and settle against the walls. The floor feels
adamantine, even though it is surfaced with a bristly brown rug. The carpet is beaten with dust;
the grains of off-white sand slightly glisten against the mild orange glow of the light in the shaft
above the elevator. The elevator itself is very odious. Two rusty steel slabs guard the entry and
exit to the dumbwaiter. They create a narrow and scanty fracture in between, which, stubbornly,
is in denial to expand. The back wall is a greasy copper-tinted mirror, diffusing a slightly metallic
and rusty smell into the air. Honed nails jut out of the spindly wooden stool in the corner, it’s
hinges squeak like a shrill-voiced seagull; the once mahogany colored chair looks like pale dust.
The stool is withering and broken, almost like a crumbling wafer, it would collapse if one tried to
settle on it.

The elevator groans like an animal in pain. With every creak, the thumps of my heart become
more vigorous and evidently louder. Thump. My uneven heartbeat accompanies the
surrounding sounds. Thump. My ears are tickled by the bothersome stridulating of the crickets
in the otherwise silent elevator shaft. Thump. A faint, vibrational grinding of gears and
machinery resounds in the elevator, indicating an ongoing construction nearby. Thump. The
elevator sways in a sporadic and bumpy manner, creating a rasping noise. The distant hooting
of a train pulls me back into the present–a break from the monotonous sounds of machinery.

Gazing distantly towards the buttons panel, I rest my head against the wall. In the top-right
corner, the chalky instruction plate sways messily from a single screw, mocking my
helplessness, as the eight pieces of advice serve no purpose. Hanging feebly from its spiraling
inky wire is the broken, buzzing intercom phone, its incessant beep racking my nerves. The red,
dotted pattern on the LED screen, displaying the floor number ‘G’, flickering fractiously. The
round floor buttons with intricate, protruding patterns in braille are surrounded by deep-orange
halos, indicating they have been pressed, but produce no result. A yellow bell, supposedly the
alarm button, elegantly outlined in sunset-yellow, stands out of the crowd as the biggest frontier
of false hope.

An immense urge to jump out of my skin and join the ethers overpowers me. It seems as if my
entire universe is limited to this metal cistern. My voice crackles and my throat feels raw as the
cries for being salvaged reverberate throughout the building, unheard. Drained of all hope,
suddenly, the elevator slams downwards with a thud, causing dizziness because of the eternity
of stock-still. Scrambling to my feet, with a cursory glance at the dark hollow; I heave a sigh of
relief as that narrow slit widens, allowing light to enter.