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Invisible

For the first time, they see you.

By Scott KessmanPublished 2 years ago 6 min read
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Invisible
Photo by Bruno Kelzer on Unsplash

Next time you get into an elevator occupied by strangers, notice how everybody avoids looking directly at you. There might be a passing glance or a friendly smile lasting just a second, but then it’s a feigned interest in the elevator buttons, or their shoes, or the doors straight ahead. They pretend you aren’t there. You’re guilty of this too, I’d bet.

I got into the elevator about noon. I’d assumed there would be a lot of activity then, as people were apt to be leaving to go to lunch or appointments. I picked the building at random. It could have been anywhere, any city. Everyone would act the same.

I rode the elevator to the thirtieth floor. I thought that might be a good starting point. Hopefully, I’d pick up a lot of passengers on the way down.

Two men in identical corporate suits, power ties and shiny shoes get in at twenty-seven. They acknowledge me for half-a-second, and then I’m invisible again. They talk about a new account using confusing business terms and slogans that mean very little but are supposed to make them feel powerful and knowledgeable.

A woman at twenty-two. Short hair, middle-aged, ordinary pantsuit. The men nod at her and continue their conversation. She glances at them and at me and turns to face the doors. We’re all invisible to each other now.

Twenty. A young guy, bright blue shirt, no tie, jeans, short spiky hair. We all occupy our little section of the elevator, keeping still and silent, pretending to be interested in anything but each other.

Sixteen. Another guy in a suit. I hate these suit guys the most, but I feel sorry for them sometimes too. They never realize how pathetic they are. But now isn’t the time for a lecture.

Twelve, and two more people, a couple, probably, though probably not dating for very long—maybe one taking the other out for lunch. High heels on the girl, sneakers on the guy. They are young, maybe mid-twenties. Still discovering life.

In an elevator by yourself, you think of things to occupy yourself during the short ride. Elevator rides with strangers are always the longest. You actually make effort not to look at anybody beyond a quick superficial greeting. The more you try to pretend they aren’t there, the more you become aware of their presence. But you stare ahead and remain silent, because nobody likes confrontation in such a small, enclosed space where there is no escape, no matter how friendly and innocent. In a perfect society, we could all find unity, even in the brief few minutes it takes to travel a few floors. We’d say hi, how are you, have a nice afternoon, and we’d all feel better for it.

But we never do that.

Next time you get into an elevator with a group of strangers, listen to how quiet it is, except for the hum of the gears and the metallic ping or the bad music or whatever noise that particular elevator makes every time it passes a floor.

Then, if you were me, you would lean over and push the emergency stop button somewhere between nine and ten, and as the elevator rumbled to a jarring halt, and the alarm came on, and the girl with the heels stumbled and fell, then you would have everyone’s complete attention.

If you were me, you would wait just a few seconds, listening to the angry cursing and the confusion, and noticing that for the first time, everyone in this elevator is now suddenly truly aware of each other and their surroundings, and there is unity in their emotions as they wonder who you are and why you brought their meaningless, empty day to a sudden halt.

Then, if you were me, you would open your jacket, revealing the explosives you have strapped to yourself.

If you were me, not only are you no longer invisible, but you are powerful and feared. The suit guys, they appear both angry and frightened, but remain silent, though their wide eyes speak volumes. The couple tries to press as far away from me as possible, but in an elevator, that isn't very far. The girl is whispering, "Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God," over and over, and probably isn't even aware she's doing it. Her date actually makes a valiant attempt to shield her with his arms, and I smile approvingly. He's scared, but he's still a gentleman. Good for him.

The other girl in the pantsuit, she's pressing elevator buttons frantically and starting to scream, but thankfully, her screams quickly turn to sobs, and she sinks to the floor, hugging herself.

Spiky hair guy doesn’t quite know what to do. He looks like he might try to grab me and hold me down, to try and stop me from detonating the explosives. But he's unsure of himself. Too bad. He might have actually stopped me. His hesitation cost him his life, as well as the lives of his elevator companions.

See, that's what we all are now, at least for the briefest of moments. We were strangers, invisible to each other, and now, I have brought us all together in one glorious moment of meaningful clarity.

When they are done sorting through the destruction, when they are done gathering the pieces of bodies and bones and organs and wiping up every little last trace of blood, when they have finished examining the security footage from the lobby and whatever pieces of identification they can find that will reveal our names, we will also be revealed to the world.

We were once invisible to the world, save for our own collective families and friends, but now we will be more real, more visible than any of them could have ever imagined. Newspapers and television stations will delve deep into our lives in order to learn who we were, what we liked, where we worked, what our goals and dreams were, what our friends and family have to say about us, and all those other little bits of information that when put together, make a life.

Millions will know us. At least for a few days, until another tragedy strikes down innocent victims somewhere else. It could be halfway around the world, or it could be someone right next door to where you live. Someone previously invisible, but soon to be revealed to everyone in newspaper articles full of details and news reports full of sorrowful words.

I look at everyone in the elevator, and they look at me, and they all see. Perhaps, for the very first time, they see.

If you were me, you would say one thing, hoping they find comfort and solace in your words.

You would say, "You are not invisible."

Then you would push a little button, and it would be true.

Horror
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