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Courtesy Kills

Saturday 18th October, Day/Story #149

By L.C. SchäferPublished about a year ago • Updated about a year ago • 2 min read
Courtesy Kills
Photo by Arisa Chattasa on Unsplash

Nobody likes lifts. It's an enclosed space, isn't it? Mind you, I've never been one to suffer with claustrophobia or anything like that. Call me lazy if you like, but I prefer to arrive at work not sweaty and gross from clattering up a billion stairs. It dings, and I step inside. There's no one else in there. I turn, press the number 5, and the doors start sliding shut. That's when I see him. A neat, fussy little man, wearing a workaday suit, like me, and carrying a briefcase, like me. He looks a bit panicked, like he's running late. I wonder which floor he works on, since I can't remember seeing him before. Maybe he has an interview today. Or it could be his first day. I dismiss both ideas; he isn't dressed smartly enough. With a little sigh, I reach out to prevent the doors from closing, and keep my arm there until he huffs and puffs his way into the lift with me. "Thank you," he says, sagging with relief, "You’re a lifesaver." I smile, and make the usual noises. Polite. Dismissive. "No problem." "Any time." Something like that. The lift seals shut, and begins its ascent. Silence. Except for the whirring of machinery. My guts lurch. Are we about to get stuck? Is that why I felt so uneasy? It's a lift. As I say, lots of people don't like lifts. Another lurch, this time from the little man in his plain suit. There's a flash of metal and a sharp pain. Blood blooms over my shirt, worryingly fast, but in slow motion at the same time. I stagger back in shock. Another chirpy ding and the doors open again. My attacker runs a hand through his hair, straightens his tie, picks up his briefcase, and strides away. It takes a moment for anyone to realise there's a man bleeding out in the lift. It takes a few more for them to unfreeze, and more still for them to stop dithering and milling. I can hear their voices as if through a long tunnel. Hands paw at me; a similar, distant sensation. My consciousness ebbs gently away. My last thoughts, chasing each other like droplets round a drain: What did he do that for? and Should have let him take the stairs.

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L.C. Schäfer

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    Written by L.C. Schäfer