“Welcome to the Elevator Club.”
As greetings go, it wasn’t all that ominous. I mean, I’ve heard worse; “I’ve been looking for you”, or, “We need to talk” are pretty terrifying ways to start a conversation. But the Elevator Club was different. It was almost funny, a group of men in well-pressed, well-fitted suits that you could tell were expensive, just by looking at them, standing together in the elevator.
They just carried on their conversations, which was also weird – people usually fall silent when someone walks into a lift, but the hubbub of the Elevator Club just kept murmuring, mingling into the sound of the elevator’s motors.
It didn’t stop – the elevator that is.
Level 27 flicked passed, the light behind the number still illuminated. I turned around, and the man who spoke to me just shrugged.
“I was level 14,” he said, waving his hand toward the doors.
The fluorescent lights overhead just hummed, beating down on us with oppressive, ultraviolent light.
“But when you got in I felt the urge to leave just disappear.” His blue tie seemed to glow.
At level 47 one of the men twitched, he was older, and seemed distinguished, stepped forward, his hand extended.
He stopped, and the elevator began to descend, counting its way back down through the floors.
“I don’t know how long they’ve been here,” he said to me, indicating the men pressed against him.
“They won’t talk to us late-comers,” Blue-tie said to me.
The older man studiously ignored him, examining his fingertips.
“You should feel special,” he said. His voice cracked as he whispered.
“How long have you been here?” I asked him.
He echoed me, his face twisted into a sneer.
I can’t remember. It can’t have been long.
“Level 27,” the elevator said.
I didn’t want to get off.
The light behind the numbers flickered, on-off, on-off, on.
The elevator kept going down.
The Elevator Club was written for this week’s BeKindRewrite prompts:
The Elevator Club