Writing & Publishing Stuck in an elevator writing prompt!

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For all the intensity your story created which was well done its ending was  somewhat a letdown because it ended too soon and it seem like you gave up on giving it more depth allowing fear to bring closure. But it was captivating.   

 
I love it, Carolina, that made me laugh! I'm assuming the donut was also stolen, which amused me most (I may be wrong, but I don't care, I love the image of this skinny kid kindly offering a stolen donut to a cop he's afraid of. Compulsively shares food just as easily as he compulsively steals things.)

Also I sympathized with the lack of knowledge that the phone might even have a flashlight, let alone know where to find it. Until I realized it's probably not actually his, whereas I was just not used to such a newfangled device.

 
The student center coffee prolongued the agony. Asleep I would forget my torment, but caffeine ratcheted up the tightness in my chest and morphed my desperation into despair. I dropped my pen on the table and rubbed my temples.

"Double-mumble-mumble-latte," said the next customer, whose masked face pointed not quite at the clerk.
"Awesome VR set. Oculus?" She squirted and stirred and shook and served the beverage.
Money was the only response and the gamer stomped out, avoiding people who were there and things that were not.

I palmed my empty notebook and pen, tossed the empty cup and shuffled off into a night empty of stars. There are never stars for those who won't look up. I had till 10 am to overcome writer's block and hand in the assignment. I was stuck in an elevator writing prompt and life had cut the power to my brain.

Stupid assignment. Medieval castle siege? That I could do. No elevators in the Hundred Years' War, though. Then the moon came out from behind the clouds and illuminated the building housing the AI lab. It had an elevator. Field trip it is.

The courtyard in front of the lab had benches, bushes and a sword-wielding LARPer hopped on latte. No, my bad. It was the gamer again, off in his own world. I gave him a wide berth. I suspected that he was deep into the castle siege I wished I was scribbling in my journal. From his occasional profanities I could tell he was French. I was English, so I picked up the pace and spun through the revolving doors.

My enemy stood before me. The elevator. I jabbed my finger at the button. Nothing. Ten slaps later I spotted the thumbpad. I had my answer. You can't get stuck in an elevator with your enemy if the elevator is your enemy. This would be the shortest writing prompt ever. I turned my back to the control panel. Outside the gamer was twisting a cap, tossing some pills and chasing it down with some Dew. I turned back to face the mechanical monster. I pulled out my notepad and pen and held them against the door so I could write. The unforgiving page sucked minutes from my soul that I will never get back, but not a drop of ink.

Slam! My back took a hit from a bony shoulder and my chin collided with the elevator door. The corner of my eye registered a red light glow then turn green. The elevator doors opened and I collapsed onto the floor. Stomp, stomp. The door clanged shut. I grabbed the waist high rail covered in a blanket and pulled myself up. The freight elevator was big, and the other occupant of the car claimed it for his own.

I leaned over to push the door open button. Smack! The gamer parried my hand, slid along the wall and took up position before the panel.

"What is the watch word of the day? France will expel you foreigners today and when I open the castle gates to let in our soldiers, I will reclaim my family's honor and ancestral title."

Great! Before I could defeat the my enemy the elevator and escape, I had to win a boss battle, armed just with a pen, paper, and my wits.

To be continued...
 
carolinamtne said:
Here's my contribution.

###

I don’t suppose you have ever been stuck in an elevator. Let me tell you, it’s not fun. And in my circumstance, it was more than just scary. You see, I was stuck in an elevator with a policeman. Not just an ordinary policeman, but one that looks like he was a linebacker for the 49ers in his previous career.

Me? I wouldn’t even qualify as a running back. I was on the track team for a while in high school, but I never came in first in any of my races.

So there I am, holding my backpack, trying very hard not to panic. And to complicate matters, for some reason, neither of our cell phones has any coverage. I don’t know what is so unusual about this elevator, what it was made of, maybe Kryptonite, for all I know, but neither of us can get any dial tone.

Isn’t there supposed to be an emergency phone on an elevator? Or something that works like one? Like with buttons to push to call a number, at least 911? Not that we can see.

In the movies, there is a hatch at the top. The hero in the movie manages to crawl out of the hatch and sometimes there’s a ladder on the side of the shaft. Or not. Sometimes the hero and the villain both duke it out on top of the elevator, with the villain falling off and down the shaft. And in the really gory movies, the elevator then drops down on top of him.

Or maybe there is like a hole at the bottom, where the cables and electric stuff are stored. At least, that way, the villain isn’t squashed.

And sometimes, in which case there is a hole at the bottom, it’s the hero who falls. Can’t kill off the hero, so he’s trapped under the elevator, but he’s alive, and they will rescue him.

Now all those scenes are running through my mind. I look up, but there is no hatch, no trap door, no escape door in the ceiling of this elevator.

All this thinking happens in a flash. Without the motor running the elevator, the only sound we hear is my panting breath.

The policeman asks, “Are you all right?”

Wide-eyed, I look at him and respond, “Stuck in an elevator when I’m claustrophobic? No, I’m not.”

“Maybe you just need to sit down and try to relax. There are things we can do. I’ve had some training in this.”

“Sure,” I say, and I sit down with my backpack behind me.

The policeman pushes the buttons on the panel. Each button emits a click, but nothing else.

And then the lights go out.

Well, that was helpful, I think, but I do not say it aloud.

He pokes his cell phone again. At least the light app works.

“Do you have a light app on your phone?” he asks.

I swipe mine to turn it on and search through the icons. I’ve only had it for a few hours, so I don’t know what it has. I’ve been busy since I bought it.

“What would it be called?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Mine’s called Flashlight.” The expression on his face makes me feel like an idiot. I look again, but none of the icons seem to have anything to do with light.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Well, this should last for a while. By then, we should be out.”

He pushes all the buttons again. Nothing happens. I notice the “door open” button near the bottom. He pushes that. There is a “call” button, but that doesn’t do anything, either. He leans on the “alarm” button, putting all his weight into it.

We both sigh, long and deep.

“OK, it’s time for step 2.” He pulls out his pistol. Fortunately, he is looking at the door and I’m behind him, or he would have seen the horrified look on my face. He pulls out the clip and starts banging on the door with the butt end.

Over the banging sound, he tells me, “The manual says that sound travels well through an elevator shaft. Somebody might hear.”

Let me tell you, the sound travels well inside the elevator too. I put my hands over my ears, but the sound continues to reverberate through our limited space.

On the other side of the elevator door, across from the useless buttons, is a plaque with writing. When I point it out to the policeman, he steps over to it and begins to read.

“In the unlikely event that the elevator becomes stuck, follow these steps.”

I snort. “So what are they?”

He continues, “1. Stay calm.” This time, he snorts. “Right!”

“So what is step 2?”

“Find a light source.” He looks down at his cell phone. “Done.”

“Step 3?”

“Press the ‘door open’ button.”

“You’ve done that. Step 4?”

“Press the ‘call’ button. Also done.” He reads on. “Step 5. Press the alarm button.”

“You almost pushed it through the wall,” I remind him. “Step 6?”

“Yell for help.”

He looks at me. I look at him. We both open our mouths and yell, “Help!”

We wait, but only the echo returns.

“You already tried banging the door with your pistol.

“Yes, that’s part of yelling for help, the fine print. They suggest a shoe. But it also reminds us to stay calm.”

“Any more steps?”

He nods, then shakes his head. “Oh, yes. Step 7. Wait it out.” He reads the fine print. “In the meantime, make conversation with your neighbors. Ask them about their lives, their work, and their hobbies.”

I slink down. I don’t think I’m going to do that. The stolen goods in my backpack would certainly make for conversation.

He doesn’t notice, just continues to read. “If you’re alone in there, occupy yourself with anything you have on hand—or take a power nap!”

He slides to the floor. I think maybe he is going to follow that advice, but he doesn’t. He puts his head in his hands and moans.

Silence follows until I interrupt it. I reach into my backpack. “Want a donut?”
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Ha ha! Love the ending! Thanks for sharing. You've just put a smile on my face and in my heart.
 
The handcuffed man slid down the back elevator wall and giggled. “Well, well, well. Stuck in an elevator. Looks like this won’t be your typical…open and shut case, eh? Ah well, life is full of…ups and downs. After chasing me for all these years, you finally…boxed me in. To be quite honest, when you caught me, I thought I would be…floored, but you…lifted me up. You seem a little off—not your usual…well-grounded self.”

He cackled again, the harsh sound echoing inside the small enclosure.

“I’d be worried sick if I were you. I mean, read between the lines, and the commissioner isn’t happy. He has obviously…suspended you. Too bad—I’m sure you’ve entertained many…lofty dreams of advancing your vendetta against crime, and now it’s all…up in the air. All your hard work to do the right thing and now you’re…left hanging.

Batman turned with a snarl, grabbed his prisoner by the throat with both hands, and lifted him off the floor. He blinked back the sweat creeping down his forehead and fought to control his breathing.

“Listen, Joker. One more pun outta you and the air in this cramped torture chamber will last twice as long. Get it?”

He released his grip and watched the gasping, retching Joker crumple to the floor. With rapid, shaking fingers he poked every button multiple times. Don’t let him get under your skin.

“I’m sorry,” the Joker said. He choked, cleared his throat, and spat in the corner. “I guess I…pushed your buttons. Are you mad? I want you to…level with me.”

Batman groaned, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the doors.

His captive continued. “I’ve never shared this with anyone else, but I feel it’s safe to open up with you. I’m terrified of elevators. For my entire life I’ve been going out of my way to…take steps to avoid them.”

Batman groaned louder and tried prying the doors open with clawing fingers.

“Awwww, don’t worry. We will be out of here in no time, and you will continue your happy life with me behind bars. You’ll find the right girl, settle down in a nice house, and have little Bat-children running around.”

He paused for a long minute. “If you do happen to buy a multi-level home, however, I recommend installing an elevator. I’ve heard it’s a great way to…raise kids…”
 
Crawdad said:
The handcuffed man slid down the back elevator wall and giggled. “Well, well, well. Stuck in an elevator. Looks like this won’t be your typical…open and shut case, eh? Ah well, life is full of…ups and downs. After chasing me for all these years, you finally…boxed me in. To be quite honest, when you caught me, I thought I would be…floored, but you…lifted me up. You seem a little off—not your usual…well-grounded self.”

He cackled again, the harsh sound echoing inside the small enclosure.

“I’d be worried sick if I were you. I mean, read between the lines, and the commissioner isn’t happy. He has obviously…suspended you. Too bad—I’m sure you’ve entertained many…lofty dreams of advancing your vendetta against crime, and now it’s all…up in the air. All your hard work to do the right thing and now you’re…left hanging.

Batman turned with a snarl, grabbed his prisoner by the throat with both hands, and lifted him off the floor. He blinked back the sweat creeping down his forehead and fought to control his breathing.

“Listen, Joker. One more pun outta you and the air in this cramped torture chamber will last twice as long. Get it?”

He released his grip and watched the gasping, retching Joker crumple to the floor. With rapid, shaking fingers he poked every button multiple times. Don’t let him get under your skin.

“I’m sorry,” the Joker said. He choked, cleared his throat, and spat in the corner. “I guess I…pushed your buttons. Are you mad? I want you to…level with me.”

Batman groaned, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the doors.

His captive continued. “I’ve never shared this with anyone else, but I feel it’s safe to open up with you. I’m terrified of elevators. For my entire life I’ve been going out of my way to…take steps to avoid them.”

Batman groaned louder and tried prying the doors open with clawing fingers.

“Awwww, don’t worry. We will be out of here in no time, and you will continue your happy life with me behind bars. You’ll find the right girl, settle down in a nice house, and have little Bat-children running around.”

He paused for a long minute. “If you do happen to buy a multi-level home, however, I recommend installing an elevator. I’ve heard it’s a great way to…raise kids…”
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suspensewriter said:
All right, I tried!

********​



The elevator car came to a screeching halt and the power went out. Their world was plunged into darkness. A few seconds later, the emergency light went on, bathing them in an eerie red.

Two men looked frantically around for a way out, but a thousand feet below ground, there was no exit. They were surrounded by closely packed earth and hung suspended in a wire cage.

“Try the intercom,” said Robert McNamara.

Paul Frye already had the phone to the surface to his ear.

“Hello? Hello?” said Paul.

“Did anybody answer?” said Robert.

Nervously, he chewed on the food bar that he was eating.

“Phone’s dead.”

“Try again,” insisted Robert.

“You try again. I know a dead phone. There’s nobody listening on the other end because the power is out.”

“What are you saying?”

He took another bite of his granola bar. A bead of sweat trickled down Robert’s forehead. In the red emergency lights, it was difficult to tell that his face was flushed red, too. His breath came in ragged gasps.

“I’m saying the phone is dead. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“I’m…claustrophobic. Just going down in this elevator was—”

“Suck it up and be a man about it, will you? Someone up topside will notice that the elevator isn’t working and they’ll—"

A cable snapped and the car tilted suddenly to one side, sending the two men tumbling.

“Watch it,” cried Paul, “don’t move.”

Robert panicked and started waving his arms around madly. He tried crawling up the side of the wire elevator in a desperate attempt to reach the top. Paul grabbed his foot and yanked on it, sending Robert tumbling to the bottom.

“Stay down, stay calm,” said Paul.

He climbed on top of him to hold him in one place, but it was difficult with Robert jerking and squirming.

“I can’t. I’ve got to get out of here, I’ve just got to.”

Paul hauled off and slapped him.

“Listen you little worm,” he hissed, “you had enough to courage to go all the way down in this God-forsaken mine, now have the guts to calm down. You hear me?”

He grabbed him by his shirt collar, got right up in his face and shook him.

“I said, do you hear me?”

“I…I,” said Robert.

“Are you sure?”

Robert started gasping for breath. He seemed to be choking on his own spittle. Anxiety racked his body, and he couldn’t stop shaking. Now his red coloring was obvious even to Paul.

Oh God, if you die on me down here, I’ll be the prime suspect for your murder, thought Paul.

“What’s the matter with you?”

He shook him again, but Robert was unresponsive. The man just wouldn’t stop trembling. His hands flew to his throat.

Paul wished he knew some first aid, but he didn’t. You were going to take me all the way down to the bottom of this mine, and when we got back topside, you were going to fire the whole lot of us, weren’t you? And I was going to kill you for it, thought Paul.

Now, he was afraid that the man beneath him was going to die, and he didn’t know how to save him.
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This was brilliant. So, what happened next?
 
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