Fragment - "Trapped"

I realise my blogging's been a little slack of late. Unfortunately, this isn't likely to change without the occurrence of some pretty major time-management on my part, which is going to take effort and willpower, neither of which I have in large amounts.

In fact, I'm having such trouble finding things to blog about, combined with the time available to write about them, that I'm typing up a fragment of creative writing that I did at GCSE. I found it about a month ago when I was clearing out my room, on a scrappy piece of paper. Enjoy.

Power failure. The lights went off.

Now that it's dark, the only thing I can see is a small flashing red light to the right of the lift door. All around me people are letting out little gasps of breath as panic creeps into their minds. I can smell people's perspiration, the mark of fear, and from below our heads comes the first faint sounds of a little girl's whimpering.

The lift walls are hemming us in as if they were closing in slowly, surely, squeezing all the air out and choking us all. Unseen, but still present, still presenting a barrier, keeping us all against our will.

I admit, I'm panicking now - I'm slightly claustrophobic. I've always felt uncomfortable in enclosed places - I feel as if the whole world is closing in on me, closing in as though the world were being compressed, everything shrinking and I'm the only thing remaining the same size, I am suffocating...

Calm down. I notice that my breathing is unnaturally quick and strained, and so I make an effort to focus, focus, concentrate on the things around me. Details. The walls, with dent that I can feel with my palms behind my back. I imagine I can see the ceiling, that it's not obscured in the inky blackness that has descended.

The flashing red light was a danger signal. But now it flickers, flickers... dies. It is a liar, telling us there is no danger now.

We are still trapped.