Nikita Sudar

It was the kind of day you just want to erase from your calendar. Fatigue weighed your shoulders down, and your head was still buzzing with the unpleasant aftertaste of a series of small, yet irritating, setbacks. Entering the building, you breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that soon you'd be home, in a cozy bed, and finally, long-awaited sleep. But when you looked up, you saw the elevator doors begin to close with a disinterested metallic clang.
Unwilling to wait, you rushed forward, nearly slipping on the tiles. Your fingers gripped the edge of the door, the doors obediently slid back, and you, breathing heavily, flew inside.
Only once inside the cabin did you notice you weren't alone. A man stood in the corner, leaning against the handrail. His long dark hair fell over his shoulders, and the shadow of his thick beard gave his face a stern, almost gloomy expression.
The elevator jerked, went up a couple of floors, and then... nothing.
A jerk, a dull thud, and silence. The lightbulb overhead flickered, hissed, and went out. The smell of dust and old metal assaulted my nose.
You let out a tired sigh. Without looking at your fellow traveler, you leaned your back against the cold elevator wall and pressed your palms hard against your eyes.