Going Down

Playing on one's mind, this story is about fear itself and how it plagues everything that's in sight as well as out. Anxiety about what one needs to do before one needs to do it... and how things seem to be going down right before your eyes.

 

S. L. Ganier

Going Down

 

 

“Oh, so that’s what you’re planning. You know, you’re going to be able to help everyone but yourself. People who make a profession helping other people have the most problems… yep, trust me on this one, it always happens. You’re going to take in every little detail until it turns you into stone. All of these images of people being hurt… they’re going to build up, and then, when you least expect it… Bam! You’re yelling at your mother, your wife, your children, and anyone else you think you love. You won’t even realize it. Yeah man, I’m telling you… it’s a curse. You’re gonna start seeing things. You’re gonna go crazy someday. I’ve seen it happen all the time."

    Those were the last words I heard my friend Damien say before I stepped into the elevator. I could always count on him to give me strange ideas. He was always on the seventh floor of the psychology building looking down through the windows, even late at night. I started meeting him there because he always had some interesting things to say. I usually don’t take the elevator down, but that night I really didn’t feel like walking down seven flights of stairs. I remember seeing Damien turn and look at me with a dazed smile right before the doors closed, which I thought was a little strange.

    I crossed my arms and thought about what he had said while I stared at myself through the reflection of the doors. The elevator seemed to be moving rather slowly, but I couldn’t really tell because I’ve actually never taken the elevator in that building. The wires were making a loud screeching noise, like the sound I would imagine the Titanic making when the metal ripped apart. The numbers that were supposed to tell what floor I was currently on were broken. I supposed that I just happened to take the oldest elevator in the building.

    I stepped forward a little bit and saw that my eyes were red. I was up for a while that night and hadn’t had much sleep the night before. My mouth seemed to have a natural frown even though I didn’t feel like I was frowning. My eyebrows seemed to crease even though I didn’t feel like I was moving them. In fact, my entire face looked older.

    “I need a haircut,” I said aloud as I stared at my reflection. “What is that? That can’t be…?”

    I looked closer into my reflection and saw that there were a few white specks showing. I shook my head and stared intently on the image. The white specks sort of made my hair look like there was a horn shape to it. I kept staring at this older, antagonized self-image. To be honest, I frightened myself by thinking about what I would be saying if I could talk to myself.

    I couldn’t imagine anything. The image spoke for itself, and it wouldn’t say a word. All I could hear was that moaning sound outside of my elevator. I looked to the right side of the elevator, where the same image stood before me staring at me. All the sides had an image and I felt as if clones of that same image were just staring at me, waiting for me to shiver, or make some sort of faint whisper to show that they had succeeded in fooling with my mind.

    “Stop,” I whispered. The screeching sound went away and the elevator doors slowly opened. There was Damien, laughing with one eyebrow raised high as he shook his head. I was wondering how he made it down the stairs so fast without even breaking a sweat.

     “What were you doing in there?” he said to me while a smirk appeared on his face. “That elevator’s been broken for months. I was gonna tell you, but it was intriguing to see how long you’d stay in there. What was going on in that head of yours?”