A potted plant stood dying outside the steel doors, one step away from dropping dead on the cold marble floor. Beyond the doors, a mechanical humming sound as the elevator ascended, moments away from meeting the next person to cross its metallic threshold. The inside of the elevator box was no more impressive than the hallway it resided in. A cold and unassuming hallway with a stained rug. Lining the walls outside were paintings by artists that nobody, not even the elevator which had been there since the beginning of time, knew the name of. The music in the elevator had stopped many years before but nobody bothered to fix it. Instead, the elevator was left to create its own music.

Eight pairs of feet stood upon the white tiles below them, their hair illuminated by the harsh light above them, bodies enclosed by the four walls around them, effectively separating them from the rest of the world for these precious few moments of monotony and yet unpredictability, and the elevator kept moving up. And the people stood still in the elevator. And the still people in the elevator kept moving up.

Some people held the metal railing lining this sealed-off chamber, their fingers running smoothly against the cold edge of steel. Most looked forwards towards the door, awaiting their departure. Two stood looking down at their feet, more interested in the laces of their shoes than the people around them and all of the memories that they have made. One stood with his hand in his coat pocket, his finger running smoothly against the cold edge of steel. The elevator looked upwards, continuing its ascent, controlled yet uncontrolled. Small circles of light signaled the destination of this metal cage, labeled by numbers on small buttons.

Four walls. Nine lights. One floor and one ceiling. Three panels of wood on each of the four walls. Eight people. Four handrails. Twenty-seven buttons. One elevator. Eight people.

Nobody spoke, yet the silence was deafening. The elevator trudged continuously upwards, yet their surroundings stood unchanging. The area was open, and yet the walls kept closing in on them, suffocating them. The reflection of the elevator lights seemed to brighten unflinchingly and crescendoed into a simultaneous, ding and, thud.

The doors opened obediently, and seven pairs of feet crossed the threshold. A potted plant stood dying outside the steel doors, seven petals barely hanging on while the other fell softly towards the ground like a piece of tissue paper.