Young Writers Society

Hour One

I boarded the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. As the door started to close, Lowell, the boy next door who goes to the same school as me, boards as well.

I curse my luck for the fifth day in a row, and hope he doesn’t strike up conversation. I want nothing more, but he’ll think I’m weird, and then he’ll start to hate me. Well, I suppose he already does, he’s probably upset that I’m on the elevator. Maybe I should get off on the next floor? No, he knows that I’m going to school just like him. He’ll hate me if I run away. Just try to be cool, maybe I should check my phone...

“Hey,” Lowell says, drawing my from my daze.

“ Hey” I reply, my voice is normal, but my gut feels like it’s imploding.

“Anything interesting happen since yesterdays elevator ride?” he asks.

I chuckle and shake my head. “No, you?”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking, and I was wondering if you’d like me to start giving you a lift to school? You always walk there even though I drive, it’s not far, so it wouldn’t be any trouble.” He said, scratching the back of his head.

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be much trouble?” I asked, the singing of angels filling my soul.

“Of course not, but I’ll ditch you if you’re late," he replied, I chuckled.

“That’d be nice,” I smiled, things were looking up, maybe he didn’t hate me...

“Is it just me, or has the elevator been going for a while now?” Lowell mentioned, glancing around. The elevator was still descending, but surely it’d been seventeen levels by now.

“Yeah, now that you mention it...” I glanced at my watch. “Doesn’t the ride usually only last, like, thirty seconds?”

“Yeah, that’s... weird.”

I glanced at my watch again. We’d been on here at a minute minutes. “How can it still be going down though? We were going to the ground floor.”

Lowell gulped. “I don’t know," he replied, walking over to the doors. He tried to open them, but of course they wouldn’t budge. The elevator continued descending at a steady rate. He started breathing heavy and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’ll be fine...” he assured.

“I’m not scared,” I said, fear clenching at my throat.

“I wasn’t talking to you," he said through clenched teeth.

I tilted my head. “Are you... claustrophobic?” I asked.

He nodded and gulped. Looking around as if the room was shrinking.

I reached forward, to give him a reassuring pat. “It’s okay, we’re safe at the very least. Nothing bad could happen.

That was when the elevator started to pick of speed.

Hour two.

We sat, each in our own corner, and waited for the elevator ride to stop. It was going twice the speed as usual, but didn’t seem to be falling at the very least. We both had water and some snacks, which we’d set in the center of the elevator. Neither of us would say it, but we had the feeling we’d be in there for a very long time. We’d already tried all of the elevator buttons, but nothing seemed to work.

Hour three.

We spent several minutes hammering the walls and doors, shouting for help, but of course nothing happened. We also lined up all of the snacks. Five granola bars, two sandwiches, one ham, one peanut butter and jelly. A stick of jerky, two pieces of cheese, an apple, and a bag of chips. Most of these were mine, I got quite hungry at school. Lowell had only had the ham sandwich and apple to contribute. To every man his own, I suppose.

We had about three quarts of water between the two of us. That wouldn’t last us long- worst case scenario, of course. Neither of our phones had signal, and we’d silently agreed to leave them alone, to preserve the battery, with the exception of my journal writing.

Hour four.

We split a granola bar, and started talking about what we’d do if we were, well, stuck here. We didn’t want to think about, but I’d done the math. We were probably seventy miles into the earth. How we could be alive with the pressure, how deep we’d have to go to go out the other side, and if the elevator would melt at the core were unknown to us. And we had no way of knowing, or rationalizing, the current situation.

Hour five.

Lowell broke down. He’s crying in the corner silently, telling me not to look at him, but I’m afraid I can’t help it.

God, I hope we get out of here soon.

Hour six.

We each had our sandwich, I also had a piece of cheese. We took several gulps of water, but probably not enough. We agreed we need it to last, so we’ll go easy. But making it last is less important then staying alive, so we’re attempting to walk that line.

Hour seven.

I got up to stretch, my legs and back sore from the uncomfortable accommodations. When the lights went out. Now there’s only the dull light from the illuminated buttons.

I started to cry from the shock and pent up fear. Lowell stood up, shushed me gently, and hugged me close. I continued to cry as he held me tight, but I could tell from his shallow, inconsistent breath that he was as scared as I was. We stood there for at least ten minutes before I sunk to the floor and scooted back to a wall, placing my head in my hands.

Hour eight.

We split another granola bar. This food probably won’t last us through tomorrow, we’re both hungry, barely able to refrain from eating it all right now.

Hour nine.

I’m cold, and hungry, and tired. I wouldn’t usually go to sleep this early, but I doze off regardless.

Hour eighteen.

I just woke up, but Lowell is sleeping right now. I don’t know what to do- neither of us do. What are you supposed to do when there’s nothing to do.

Hour twenty-two.

Sorry for the gap, I fell asleep again. We only have the chips and a granola bar left now, and our hunger only grows. I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Or if we’ll ever get out.

Day two.

We’ve gone through half our water and are dehydrated even now. I’m stiff, and walking around is almost as exhausting as letting my body go numb from the weird positions.

Day three.

We’re out of food. We’re out of water. I’m so hungry... I wish there was food, any food. We’ve lost hope. We’ll probably die here.

Day four.

I can’t see in the darkness, but if I could I’m sure it would be blurred. I have a massive headache, and my mouth feels so dry I can’t stand it.

Day five.

It’s getting harder to stand up, or move at all. I’m so thirsty it’s all I can think about, and me and Lowell don’t talk at all anymore because of how much it hurts to. Even typing out this message takes massive effort.

Day six.

I can’t see the screen as I type this, my head feels like it’s going to explode, I can’t get up, can’t talk, can't hardly move...

No one could piece it together. Two teenagers get on an elevator in the morning, arrive at the bottom dead from dehydration. They were, by multiple accounts, ‘healthy’ less then thirty minutes prior to the incident. Rumors are floating around that the girl had a phone, and that it accounts a strange happenstance...

Only rumors, at best.