by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 3
Words: 200

I waited for the elevator beside another man. Finally the doors opened, and the operator opened the safety-cage with a rattle. The passengers bustled off, heading out to the street in search of buses and trams to take them home.

“After you,” I said. The other man moved toward the back wall, and turned toward me. I caught sight of his watch-fob – a coin, rather larger than an old sovereign, and somewhat darker in tone. I saw a skull and crossbones, brighter against the tarnished background, and the inscription ‘Anniversarium’ above them. I saw all this in a trice, but the man must have noticed where I was looking. He slipped the coin back into his pocket.

“What floor, gentleman?” the operator asked.

“Seventh floor,” we said, together. I thought little of the odd coincidence. When we arrived at our floor, I stepped out and made my way toward the back of the building, past frosted glass doors with the names of the companies and the office numbers picked out in gold leaf.

Elizabeth was standing outside 710, as if waiting for me. Apparently, the other man saw her, too.

“Carrod!” he hissed, rudely. “What are you doing here?”

by Roger Faubush II "Author page"

Likes: 2
Words: 200

The elevator sank through the arcology's black glass throat, twelve bodies pressed into the flicker of emergency strips. Rain traced the outer shaft like static. Floor 47. Floor 46. The numbers bled downward in corrupted code.

Between 31 and 30 the car locked.

No impact. Only the click of mag-locks and the city's low thrum gone. Screens on every wall went dark. A woman in a chrome collar found her neural link dead. The courier with the sealed briefcase shifted, joints whispering.

Nobody spoke.

The lights dimmed one strip at a time, ceiling to floor, as if something were being poured from the car. Somewhere below, or inside the walls, a sound started that might have been machinery settling. It did not stop when the car did not move.

No one checked their neural link again. The car began to fall, but wrong: speed gathering as motion inside stretched and slowed, breath suspended between one heartbeat and the next, rain outside frozen mid-streak against the glass. Then it stopped. All at once, with no sound at all.

The doors opened onto nothing. Not darkness. Absence, lit by the waning lights of silence, dimming toward a floor that did not exist.

by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 2
Words: 200

The elevator doors swung open. The operator slid open the cage. A Salvador Dalí impersonator strode out with a cane in one hand and an anteater on a leash in the other. I smiled. He ignored me.

I stepped into the elevator. The operator closed the cage and the doors.

"Year?"

"Uh. The 19th floor, please."

"No. Year."

"It's 2026."

"Man. Are you dense? What year?"

"I don't understand."

"Look, bub, I ain't got all day. What year?"

"Fine. November 22, 1963. Dallas."

"So original."

He pressed a button. The carriage shot down like a bullet. I was going to be late for my appointment. We slowed to a stop. The doors flew open. The operator unlatched the cage. "The Adolphus Hotel. Dallas, November 22, 1963. Go through the lobby and out the doors to see the parade. Have a good day, sir."

I stepped out. The carpet was soft and fancy. "Hey, how in the world did you..."

Two men brushed past me toward the elevator.

"Oswald, ol' buddy, I think we just made history."

"They'll never know the truth, will they, President Kennedy?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Probably better that way."

Yes. I was definitely late for my appointment.

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 2
Words: 200

“Fourth floor, please.”

The elevator man eyed Tim.

“There’s only one way, and that’s down.”

The door closed. Gravity reversed, and Tim hung in mid-air before crashing to the floor. The car hurled downward.

“There must be a mistake!” he shouted.

The elevator man didn’t flinch. “Vader knows…”

Tim scrambled to his feet, grasping the handrail, he pulled himself upright. He smashed buttons, but nothing changed; the car continued to race down.

Heart throbbing, he scanned the panel.

“Only in an emergency.”

He leaped to the other side. “This is definitely an emergency!” He slammed his fist against the red button, and the elevator screeched to a stop. Tim tumbled to the floor as the door slid open.

The doorman sneered. “This had better be good. No one ever goes back.”

White light seared the interior of the car.

Tim shielded his eyes.

“Come,” a bass voice resonated.

He stepped out, shaking head to toe.

“Speak.” the voice demanded.

“Sir, I, I… I didn’t mean to go down.”

“Most people don’t, but they do.”

"I didn’t mean to do it." Tim pulled out a yellow sticky note pad.

“Very good. Send him up, Claude.”

Claude reached out. "Hand it over."