Stuck in an Elevator

Madness.

Complete and utter insanity.

It felt surreal. Like, I was dreaming about myself being trapped in an elevator. And in a few minutes, I would be back in my bed, safe and sound, with my heart racing and a sweat filled bed from the nightmares.

But instead, I was living the nightmare.

You probably think I am being over dramatic.

Which, I probably was being, looking back on that dreadful afternoon, full of salty tears and a constant ringing in my ears like the sound of a broken fan, which was from all the sobbing I had been doing.

I could barely feel anything except for the strong hands of the distant stranger trying to hold me up, trying to make me sit up from the hard ground. It seemed pretty difficult because I was shaking as if I was having a seizure or something. He would probably get fed up with me and walk to the other side of the elevator because I wouldn’t stop shaking with a seizure filled mind.

Hm, I wonder what a seizure feels like, is it painful-

Focus, Sky. You're practically dying here, now is not the time to be thinking about seizures! Although, a seizure sounded much better than being stuck in this steel cage. Another scared shudder passed through me, and all of a sudden, a cold air passed through me.

Here comes the chills. Another one of the many side effects to panic attacks.

And I was sweating. Cold sweat was the worst feeling ever. Clothes stuck to my back as sweat kept coming out of my pores.

The man with a strong grip on my shoulders got on his knees to get on eye level with me, and shook me harder, trying to pry my eyes open to look at him.

"Are you okay?" He kept asking, “What happened? It’s okay,”

I didn't want to talk to him, and it was almost like he heard my silent plea. Or maybe he got fed up from me not answering to his a billion and one questions, so instead he just held me. The stranger held me to his chest, despite me being a complete and utter stranger.

And despite probably feeling the sweat on my back. Insert embarrassed shudder here.

I knew I should have taken the stairs. I always take the stairs. Taking the stairs was like breathing for me. My legs always took me there without a second thought. Always. I have always been afraid of these death traps, and the one day I choose to take the elevator because my oh so loving father made me, I get stuck.

The fear began a long time ago, practically when I was a fetus. Literally when I popped out of my mom’s vagina, I was born horrified of elevators. Okay, I am over exaggerating, but still. It began a while ago.

It started when I was 6, and got locked in my bedroom because my sister was chasing me with my pet hamster. I wasn't scared of the hamster at all, I was in love with the little creature. (Not like that, I just love all animals!) But my sister on the other hand was a full foot taller than me and was the sassiest girl alive. So, I ran to my room, tried locking the door and boom, I get stuck in it.

I got out, of course, because my mom walked me through, step by step on how to get out, and I did get out. But where was my mother now? She should be walking me through, step by step, on how to get out of this elevator and stop with the seizure antics.

But she was most likely celebrating my disappearance with my sister.

My dad always use to take the stairs with me when no one wanted to, but today was different for both of us.

He was getting extremely fed up with me always picking the stairs over the elevator, but in my opinion, the stairs were a lot safer and I got some exercise, practically the only exercise I get is from running up those things with my short legs.