Project: Bird Cage

Today is April 31.

Only two days have passed, yet it feels like an eternity.

If I had known this was how it would end, I never would have held the elevator door open for Lindsey. Now, her fate is in the hands of an unknown evil. It’s all my fault.

There were eight of us piled into this elevator only 48 hours ago—now there are six. Our numbers are dwindling. Who knows how many of us will be left?

“Someone has to push a button,” whimpers Claudia, a mother holding her young boy close.

“My poor baby is going to starve to death if we don’t do something soon.”

The majority of us nod in agreement, yet stand painfully still, hesitant to take action.

The rules are simple:

1. Each person must push an elevator button.

2. Someone must get out on each floor.

3. Dangerous floors have resources. Lucky floors have the exit.

These are the rules written on the inside of the elevator doors, revealing themselves only after we were trapped inside.

The lights flicker erratically.

Claudia releases a shaky sigh before hovering her finger above a button—floor 52. Glancing from side to side as if seeking validation, she says, “If this is a good floor, we let my boy go, okay?”

“Absolutely,” confirms Andrew, an ex-marine standing to my left. He towers over everyone in this metal cube, his authority a lighthouse in the midst of this storm.

Jud, a scrawny accountant, is huddled to my right. His shirt is drenched with sweat after witnessing the last two levels. We have yet to land upon a lucky floor.

Claudia wearily presses the button for floor 52. The air grows silent as our eyes track the light flashing from level to level. Finally, the elevator halts, and the doors begin to crack open.

A streak of light bleeds through.

***

Floor 52 is bright, overwhelmingly so.

I squint my eyes, hopelessly attempting to view what atrocity might be waiting for us, or more specifically, for Claudia.

Suddenly, Jud releases a gasp. The floor is empty, save for a single door at the far end and a neon sign with the word “Exit” on it. Although our bodies are cramped and tense in this little box, I can feel everyone relax ever so slightly at the sight of freedom.

“Wait,” Andrew commands, his arm outstretched in front of Claudia and her boy.

“What if it’s a trap? This seems too good to be true.”

Claudia looks nervously at her boy, then at Andrew. A loud gulp breaks her silence as she lowers Andrew’s arm and whispers, “I’ll go make sure it’s safe for him.”

Her foot is trembling, but her resolve is steady. Claudia steps a few inches from the elevator door, searching the room for anything suspicious.

“Is it safe, Mom? Be careful.” Her boy cries.

“Yes, baby, I think it—”

Her voice immediately cuts off as she stumbles forward.

Something lurches past her, racing toward the exit door. The boy whirls around to find that one of us betrayed the promise made only seconds before.

The clammy man is gone.

“Jud! What about the boy?” Andrew shouts furiously.

Jud pauses, his hand gripping the door handle. For a moment, he turns to contemplate, but it’s too late.

He swings the door wide open.

There is nothing but darkness on the other side, leaving everyone to wonder if Jud truly made it out of here alive.

Now there are five.

***

“I already pushed the button. It’s someone else’s turn,” says Claudia with a sunken spirit.

With only five of us, there is slightly more room to spread out. Nonetheless, the emptiness on either side of our bodies serves as a reminder of danger rather than a place of comfort.

“I think you deserve another turn, Claudia. It’s not fair what Jud did. He’s a coward,” offers Lindsey.

I squeeze Lindsey’s hand as I know what she’s about to suggest.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

Lindsey is my childhood friend and coworker, but most of all, she is my unrequited love. She asserts, “If it’s a dangerous floor, I’ll volunteer to get the resources and come back.”

Claudia’s face drops more than before; her silence is acceptance of Lindsey’s offer.

I hesitantly turn to Lindsey and wallow in the painful thought of losing her. But rather than seeing the expression of a woman on edge, I see a confident, unshaken Lindsey who squeezes my hand back.

She smiles then announces, “Feel free to pick any floor, Claudia, but my favorite number is 11.”

***

“Why are you smiling? Aren’t you scared?”

This is what I want to say, but instead, I remain quiet and settle for a concerned expression.

I know Lindsey is a selfless person, yet I cannot bring myself to understand why she would do this. Also, why a lower level? There are 200 other floors to choose from, so why go back down? Our previous failed attempts were on the lower levels.

The elevator descends.

I can’t look. I can’t breathe. I can’t lose the woman I want by my side forever.

The doors pull apart, and my legs move as if with a mind of their own. Without realizing it, I thrust myself in front of Lindsey, anticipating what waits on the other side.

***

The doors open.

My body bathes in darkness.

Andrew clenches his fist as a shadowy creature lurks by the now open door. Its imposing body sways from side to side, taunting me to exit the elevator.

Saliva leaks from its toothy grin onto the concrete floor. I can’t move.

“It’s waiting for us,” Claudia shudders.

Lindsey’s smile grows, and her eyes begin to water. Even those we think we know best can have a side we are strangers to.

This is not the Lindsey I know. Oh no, this is a woman rushing to meet her end—someone ready to give up.

“Finally,” Lindsey breathes, “it’s over.”

Claudia slams the ‘close’ button, but Lindsey is faster. Lindsey’s head barely reaches past the doorway before I snatch her hand and desperately pull back.

But the sinister creature does not miss an opportunity.

Its jagged teeth sink into her scalp.

Clumps of hair and flesh follow.

We fling Lindsey to the back of the elevator as the doors slam shut. Everyone gathers near her shivering body. Her head’s a mess.

She’s broken.

She’s lost a large patch of hair, her scalp bleeding profusely from the attack.

“God help us all,” Claudia sniffles as she looks toward the ceiling.

***

No one dares to reopen the doors. However, we all know the rules: someone has to get out.

Hours pass by before Claudia stands up, resolution glimmering in her eyes. Her son’s stomach growled only moments before, and she watched as he shamefully tried to stifle the sound. He’s starving. But he’s hungrier to keep his mother alive.

“Momma, you can’t!” He screams.

“What kind of mother am I to let my child go hungry? I’ll be back before you know it.”

The elevator doors screech open.

Without another word, Claudia disappears into the darkness.

***

“Hey buddy, at least the monster went away,” Andrew tries desperately to console the boy.

“You don’t know that,” the boy says, avoiding eye contact.

Five hours have passed. With each hour, our stomachs grow more unruly, and our anxieties more intense. We are in dire need of supplies—food, water, bandages—anything to help us survive.

Lindsey stares blankly at the mirrored walls, looking everywhere except for at her scalp. She needs something—anything—please, Claudia.

Help us.

A shadow zips across the door.

“Everyone, stand back!” Andrew yells.

He takes on a protective stance, ready to pounce at whatever evil being rushes the elevator. Images of the beady-eyed, crooked creature force their way to the front of my mind. Everyone’s posture suggests they, too, are expecting the worst.

The hazy figure becomes more defined in the elevator’s flood of light.

“Momma!”

***

Claudia returns, arms riddled with scratch wounds.

“I saw it—the thing—the hideous monster keeping us here,” she rattles.

Her voice echoes in our little prison, detailing the horrors she witnessed.

“What about the resources?” Andrew wastes no time in asking what we all wish to know.

The wrinkles on Claudia’s face grow deeper. Her expression distorts with bitterness.

“I almost died!” She howls.

She’s right. Our humanity is degrading under these inhumane circumstances. We are forgetting how to have empathy. We only think of ourselves.

The look on Andrew’s face says it all. He’s apologetic, but unsure of what to say. Tentatively, Claudia unwraps her shawl to reveal what we’ve been waiting for.

Bread.

A small, singular slice of bread. Just enough for one person: her son.

***

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Andrew mutters.

“Do we give the bread to the boy or to the injured woman?” He continues, waving his hand around dramatically. The moral dilemmas are racing through his mind. Women and children. The vulnerable. What is this ex-marine to do? What about himself?

“Let the boy eat,” Lindsey heaves.

“The girl wants to die anyway, so just let my son have the bread,” demands Claudia.

Well, this is new. What happened to the Claudia who hurriedly closed the elevator doors to save Lindsey? Who cradled Lindsey’s head to inspect the wound?

“What actually happened out there?” I interrogate, hoping that my instincts are wrong.

The mother stutters, quickly shoving the bread to her son’s lips before turning to face me.

“I told you the truth,” she says, her eyes shifting.

“I never said you lied,” I pause, “but if you did, it would be in your best interest to tell us now.”

***

Andrew must have seen something when Claudia turned to respond. He grabs her face in the crook of his hand, scrutinizing her lower lip.

“You have crumbs on your face,” he says in disbelief.

“Don’t you dare grab a woman by the face! You heathen! Don’t you know better?” She slaps Andrew’s hand away forcefully.

In a hushed tone, I repeat, “What happened?”

The crushing pressure closes in on Claudia as she caves to our questions. A deep sigh escapes her chapped lips before recounting the details she conveniently omitted before.

“There were seven,” she sobs.

She came across seven slices of bread.

“Greed and hunger consumed me. My hands moved with reckless depravity. I swallowed whole chunks and nearly choked. The only thought that stopped me was the image of my son, as I stumbled upon the last slice.”

We learned, however, that even with her son at the forefront of her priorities, Claudia still took one bite of his portion.

“What kind of mother are you?” Andrew bellows, pinning her against the cold, metal wall.

Endless tears roll down Claudia’s cheeks. She knows. What she did was wrong, but there’s a part of her that would do it again.

“It must have been the evil beings lurking nearby. I was not in my right mind,” she wails.

None of us is in our right minds.

Would I eat the bread too? Would I even spare a piece for the child?

***

Our trust is rotting away—not that there was much to begin with. We are strangers. We do not owe each other anything.

Lindsey lies curled next to me, holding her throbbing head. My hand brushes over her bloodied hair to then carefully caress her face. She lacks the energy to swat my hand away. She would usually be playful at a time like this—entertaining my one-sided love out of pity. However, the Lindsey before me is unrecognizable, as am I.

Hostile feelings are crawling into my head, not about Lindsey, but Claudia. How dare she steal what belongs to us? I try to empathize with her in my mind; maybe she had fought demons and felt deserving of all the bread. Maybe she was eating her fear away. Maybe she thought there would be more food.

My thoughts are futile. What is done is done. Claudia must repent.

***

“The world is an unfair place. This is proof of that,” Andrew breaks the silence.

“Your little boy stays in the elevator. Lindsey goes free at the next good stop.”

Andrew’s words hang in the air.

The heat from Claudia’s skin rises while the hairs on the back of her neck stand tall. She’s a mother through it all, despite taking a bite of her son’s bread.

“No!” Claudia roars.

However, the doors slide open before she can continue.

Andrew has already selected a new floor.

***

We let out a simultaneous gasp—the room is covered from floor to ceiling in white marble. Two perfectly straight rows of lamps are the only source of light and mimic a walkway to a comfortable chair fit for a king. The throne is coated in gold foil and studded with small rubies along the curves.

I tug at Lindsey’s shoulder.

“Lindsey, this is your stop,” calls Andrew, holding back a desperate Claudia.

Lindsey does not budge.

“Lindsey, what’s wrong—” my voice trails off into the void. Lindsey stares back at me, eyes glazed like dull glass marbles. I lift her hand and watch it slump to the floor.

She’s cold.

“Lindsey, wake up. This isn’t funny. Please!” I cry.

Andrew is taking the brunt of Claudia’s might as she struggles in his grasp. The man is stunned and unsure of what to do—what is this cruelty? The boy gets to run free, and Claudia does not pay a price.

No. The boy is not responsible for his mother's independent actions. He never was. We were wrong to leverage him as a punishment.

“Go,” Andrew nods in the direction of the door without looking at the boy. He is still gripping the boy’s mother, so the child squeezes his mom one last time before taking his exit.

Little do we know, safety is an illusion.

A set of lamps turns off with each stomp of the boy’s foot—his path to the throne becomes a blur.

“Take larger strides! Jump if you must!” Andrew shouts.

Claudia is no longer fighting her way out of Andrew’s grasp; rather, she holds his hand as she anxiously watches her little boy.

“Jump, baby, jump!”

There is now a limited number of lamps gleaming the path forward, meaning the boy must count his steps wisely.

Claudia gulps loudly—

“What happens once all the lights go out?”

***

There is only one set of lamps left before two thunderous claps disrupt our focus.

Suddenly, all the lamps burn back to life and relight the pathway. The boy remains in position, waiting to jump once more.

“Do you really think I’d let an innocent boy die?” A voice booms throughout the room.

“Come now, I can’t possibly be all that bad, can I?” It asks tauntingly.

We all waver, unsure whether to respond.

“Do we speak with the devil?” Claudia whispers.

“Oh, you flatter me,” says a shadowy figure emerging from behind us. An intense scream fills the air as Claudia reaches for the elevator buttons, pressing as many as she can in a frenzied craze. Unfortunately, all the buttons are unresponsive to her touch.

“It looks like I’ve made a mistake,” the being hisses while shooing us out of his path.

“And I rarely ever make mistakes,” he says, glaring in my direction. His fingers tap against his chin pensively before pressing between my eyes.

“You. You’re the reason.”

Without another word, his finger drops, pointing to Lindsey’s lifeless body.

Something churns inside me, and my vision doubles; my knees hit the floor. Everything is dark.

***

Today is May 1st.

I woke up hungry.

I had the strangest dream, although I can’t remember much. Regardless, a slice of bread should hold me over until this afternoon.

At the office, I wait in our usual spot, right in front of the elevators. I am clutching a hot cup of coffee—two shots of espresso, just the way Lindsey likes.

The big hand on my watch ticks past eight.

“Hey, Mike, have you seen Lindsey?”

He turns to me, “Who’s Lindsey?”

The elevator dings.

Something is inviting me inside.