The Elevator  By Kerry O’Shea I was in a shabby hotel. The place is obviously about to go out of business soon. The walls are getting yellow with grime and dirt, the couches a tacky color that doesn’t match any other furniture. I had gone downstairs to ask where the vending machine was - I had been very thirsty lately. I had taken the stairs since they were right outside my hotel room. I had only stopped at this dump for the night, since I was taking a long trip and it had grown dark. The man at the front desk told me where the vending machine was, without the usual courtesy of most managers. He said floor 5. That was two floors above my hotel room floor. I decided to take the elevator, because there was no point in exercising more than I had to. My fear was waiting for me inside the elevator when I walked in. The elevator was the exact way I would picture it in my nightmares. The walls were a musty, stained spearmint color, the floor a yellowish white linoleum. I walked in, ignoring the scratches and graffiti on the door. I looked at all the buttons on the wall. They were cracked, some of them not even lit up. I wondered if they still worked. I pressed the up button, then the 5th floor. The buttons would blink on the wall after I pressed them. The elevator started its slow descent up into the shaft. I started to feel my anxiety growing, trying to control my mind. My heart beat faster, a lump developing in my throat. The doors slowly closed, leaving me alone in the small space. I was trapped inside a metal cage. My mind started to race through all the possibilities. What if the elevator breaks down? I wondered. What if I never see my family again? Silly me, I told myself. That would never happen. It couldn’t ever happen. Impossible. When I reached the 5th floor, a while that seemed like a decade to me, I turned right like the manager said. Finally after a walk down the hallway, I reached a little niche in the wall. The vending machine was tucked in there like a baby in its cradle. I reached for the crinkly paper in my pocket. Inserting the dollar, I chose a lemon flavored Lipton Iced Tea, my favorite. The bottle clunked in the bottom of the machine, and I reached for the drink. The bottle was cold, and I happily twisted the cap, hearing the familiar snap! of the plastic. I drank the Iced Tea gratefully, the liquid calming the lump in my throat. At the end of the hall, some older teenagers started to cause a ruckus. I was so shy I just turned the other way and ran back to the elevator. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed like the faster I walked away, the closer their voices got. I got spooked and started to sprint towards the elevator, the unmatched carpet and rug floor blurring beneath my feet. I reached the elevator and pressed the up button outside the door. The doors didn’t open at first. It took a while for them to finally let me pass, but first the maid had to get out. She planted herself between me and the teenagers, which I was glad for. I jumped inside the elevator, not realizing I was running straight into my fear again. I pressed the familiar cracked buttons, pushing down the 3rd floor one. The elevator gave a groan, then started to move. As I started to calm down about the teenagers, my elevator fear started up. I looked around the elevator, trying to get my focus off the “possibilities”. The spearmint color looked somehow even less welcoming than the first time in the elevator. I tried to keep my mind off the fear. I looked at the rusty hand bar, examining its brownish orange color as if it actually fascinated me. I took several deep breaths, clutching my beverage. The chill of the bottle sent shivers down my spine, or at least I hoped it was the chill. The elevator stopped going at its extremely slow pace, and suddenly screamed the warning of a halt. The 3rd story button, oddly, was still blinking. The lights overhead started to flicker. I looked up at them, not caring about the damage to my eyes. They gave one last pitiful flicker, then failed. The only light came from the cracked buttons. So much for impossible. I started to panic. I screamed, as loud as I possibly could. I yelled at the door, seeing if there were people outside it, or if I had reached my floor. There was no reply. I actually started to bang on the stupid walls, but still there was no reply. I was trapped in the elevator. I felt myself losing grip on my sanity. I started to sob uncontrollably, slumping in the corner of the elevator. In my dreams, there was at least an intercom or a help button, but not here. Here it was reality. I closed my eyes and tried to grab hold of myself. My horrid fears had come to life, and now I was trapped. If only I hadn’t come to this junk of a hotel. If only I hadn’t been so stupid! I felt like it was all my fault. I felt so naive. I came to realize my last option. I was expecting my fate to be the worst. I took out my 5 dollar bill and a pen, one I had kept if I needed to pay up front at the desk and sign a receipt. My hands shook, whether it was because of nerves or insanity I will never know. I dreaded what I was about to do, but I felt it was necessary. As my last resort, slowly and carefully, I started to scribble down my last words on the green paper bill.