Stuck in the lift (version 2) Panic. It all started when I was at the lift lobby of my flat, waiting for the lift to arrive. I was not alone. A mother, clad in an expensive-looking light blue dress, was clutching her daughter’s hand. Like her mother, the daughter’s skin was as smooth as china. The sound that indicated the lift’s doors were opening, jolted me out of my deep thoughts. If I had known what was to come, I would have heeded my inner voice on taking the stairs instead. Tapping my feet in sheer impatience, I furrowed my brow and grimaced at the excruciating slow progress of the lift’s number buttons flashing in sequence. 1… 2 … 3 … 4 … Without any warning, the lift jerked to a sudden halt. I was flung like a rag doll to the floor of the lift whereas the mother and her daughter managed to grip the railings of the lift tightly in the nick of time. Just as I struggled to get to my feet, the lift became enveloped in suffocating dark
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