
Late to class.
Must retrieve assignment from dorm room.
Elevator doors open, but the floor of the compartment hovers at waist level. How do I get in?
The doors shut.
I press the button again, hoping for a different result.
The doors open, and person after person emerges. I wait and wait, but the line of evacuees, like a parade of ants, continues until the doors slam shut again.
I think about my room on the thirteenth floor. I glance at the entrance to the stairwell. I hit the button again.
The doors part and the elevator cab bounces up and down as if suspended from a Slinky.
I prepare to hurl myself in when it reaches its lowest level.
As I crouch to jump, the doors shut again.
I check my watch. I am so late for class. But my grade depends on submitting my assignment today.
I approach the stairwell, but cannot enter because of the flow of students descending.
Will this nightmare never end?
This is my response to The Daily Post prompt: Elevate.
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The best doctor is the one you run to and can’t find.
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