Lift Horror Dream
Me and a companion (it may be P) are at the front of a queue waiting for a lift. There is an attendant in a small waistcoat and a clean white shirt. He has a name badge. The lift arrives, and the brushed steel doors pull back. In the centre just bend the doors is a floor to ceiling rod. There is a also a handrail that runs from this rod to the back of the lift at roughly waist height, dividing the lift space in two. There is enough room for four people in the lift. We are on the left of the lift. On our side there is a further handrail down from the side, that links to the central handrail at 90 degrees. Halving our side again. The attendant smiles and leans forward to flick this last rail back up into a shallow recess in the wall, allowing us access all the way back. He apologises as he does this. My companion steps in first, then me. Two women step into the other side of the lift. We are all joined in one of those ridiculous pick-up conversations with strangers when you’re all forced into the same space. This time, how do you get black pasta? The lift doors close, the mechanism starts, the quarter of the floor under my companion opens suddenly and before she can scream she is gone. We are on the 11th floor. I wake up. it is 3.37am. I can just about make out the ceiling in the gloom. There is sweat on my brow.