Just another bad dream



   June 7, 1980


 Just as I said I didn't get nightmares, I got one. That'll teach me to stay up late writing horror stories. Among the many little scenes was a ride down in an elevator. I made the mistake of pushing down button when I meant to go up.

 I was dazed for some reason, wandering around one of the upper floors of a thousand story hospital when I saw a service elevator. Four of us stood in the thing as it descended a pretty woman, an old man, a black man and me.

 The floor wobbled which made me nervous. It was nothing more than a piece of ply board which started to crumble as the elevator went down. We sank slowly like aging barge in a canal, floating passed old doors, some half open, other boarded over, as if the elevator was not meant to be used.

 My mind was racing when we reached the 900th floor and then the edge of the ply board snapped. I grabbed for the handholds protruding from the walls and watched the floor continue to sink. I could imagine myself hanging there long after the floor had vanished. I was afraid to look down again.

 I let go and fell, dropping through the sinking floor and through another ply board floor ten feet below it. The other people in the elevator had abandoned me, and stood at one of the half open doors high above.

 "Help!" I yelled as I fell. I screamed through some of the passing doors. But people in them had their own problems. They didn't want to know about me. My freed passengers were another matter, running furiously around upstairs trying to find me help. But I fell and fell and fell...

 ...and woke to my dismal apartment in Passaic. I grinned and sat up. From here, I couldn't sink much farther.

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