The Slow Drop: A Short Story

Another entry into a flash fiction writing challenge

You know it! You’re getting a triple shot of The Drip Tray this week. I spent a week at home in anticipation of a tropical cyclone that was due to hit Brisbane on the Wednesday, but it didn’t end up making landfall until the Saturday. As a result, I did a whole lot of reading and writing until we lost power – then I went to the folks’ place, who still had theirs, to make coffee and scrambled eggs.

I had even less time than the usual 55 hours to enter this monthly flash fiction writing challenge because of the wild weather. In 500 words or less, I had to write an original short story that featured at least two characters in an elevator or a sauna, and it had to include the words “thump,” “stick” and “valuable.” I’ve tried to change my approach and style with each entry, so I went for a dark comedy with this one. Those who know me can probably guess what I wrote about…

Devil (2010)

John stepped into the elevator with his head down, checking the time on his phone with one hand while clutching his uneasy stomach with the other. It wasn’t until he looked up that he saw Lou standing in the corner. Lou smiled handsomely at John who returned the gesture as a twinge of pain protested his late lunch, making it more of a grimace.

John reluctantly jabbed his finger at the button for the ground floor like poking a dead animal with a stick. For a panicked moment, he thought about reopening the doors and bolting for the toilet, but it was too late. The steel box made a dull thump then lurched into motion.

His stomach somersaulted and he cursed the discounted sushi for spoiling what could have been valuable time with Lou. Not that the two of them had really talked since Lou’s recent transfer. Still, John craved a few seconds with Lou all to himself. Just hearing his warm timbre was enough to make John blush.

A cold tingle spread throughout John’s midsection and he clenched his buttocks as a jet of hot air escaped. He wasn’t sure if the small squeak came from his arse or his throat. Lou didn’t seem to notice. John reached around to discreetly pat the back of his pants and was relieved to find them dry.

The floors scrolled by as the elevator lumbered down and John prayed nobody else was late leaving the office. Another low gurgle threatened to open the floodgates and he shut his eyes as tightly as his sphincter. He didn’t want to gamble on a fart in an elevator with this gorgeous specimen beside him. But he knew the odds were against him.

As if some sick smiting from God, the elevator came to an abrupt halt between the third and second floors. The jolt made John brace his diaphragm and forced a distinct squelching sound from his pucker that made him wince. Lou just stared straight ahead at their warped reflections. John knew immediately he had followed through with something for the first time in his life. His father would be proud.

A hideous stench filled the confined space like birthday balloons. John wanted to cough to break the insufferable silence, but feared he might shit himself again. He waited for Lou to gag or call him out in disgust. John knew Lou knew. Whoever smelt it dealt it – everybody knew that.

John saw the number two illuminated above the doors and almost laughed at the irony. He thought there was a good chance he would survive the fall if he were to pry them open and leap to his undignified freedom. Dishonourable discharge, alright, he thought.

After an agonising moment, the elevator shuddered back to life and continued its descent. The doors parted at the ground floor, as did John’s lips to explain himself, when Lou backed out with his hand smothering a smirk.

“I’m so sorry,” Lou finally managed. “It was me. Obviously.”