Round and Round We Go

Round and Round We Go

AFTER

It’s dark. I’m scared. I’m not alone. It’s dark…. Cold.

BEFORE

I’m going to be late for my appointment on the 17th floor. 

I’m going to be late for my appointment on the 17th floor.

No. No. I won’t. I’m on time. I need to relax. That’s what Dr. Mishka said last time remember. 

You’re going to be late! That other voice said, the one from inside. The one that haunts my mind. Block it out. Just like Dr. Mishka said. I’m a little tea pot. Remember? Short and stout. Here is my handle, all that jazz.

That won’t help you. You know that don’t you? That voice interrupted again. Short and stout. Short and stout.

I’ve finally made it to the building on 61st Street where Dr. Mishka said to meet, new office and all that. At least I think it is the building… Oh well, I’m late and need to get there. 

There’s a lady on the front desk, looking at her computer screen. Lovely looking, gorgeous even. Beautiful eyes hiding behind red-rimmed glasses.

And tits to stop you in your tracks, That voice again. 

“Shut up, you can’t just say those things!” I said a little too loudly. The lovely gorgeous lady looked up, widened her eyes, shook her head in disgust, then looked back at her computer screen. I can see that she’s actually reading a magazine, but it’s not my place to judge, especially after my faux pas. From my relative safety of the entryway I ask, “Excuse me miss? Where’s the elevator? I have an appointment on the 17th floor.”

“Name?” she asked without looking up.

“Toil. Arthur Toil.” I said, without moving from my safety. Never move from the safety. Chicken shit, wobble-guts. The voice mocked, always mocking.

“17th floor?” she asked

“Yes, 17th floor and I’m late. Where’s the elevator?” I was starting to lose it. Don’t lose it. I’m a little tea pot.

With her focus back on her magazine reading about God knows what sort of fashion, or food, or celebrity gossip, she simply pointed in the direction of the elevator. 

“Thank you” I said and left my safety to go to the 17th floor. The elevator she pointed at was opposite the desk, double door with a logo on it. I didn’t recognise the logo, but then again Dr. Mishka said that it was a new building after all.

Or you’re stupid and in the wrong building, always stupid, stupid, stupid stu-

“Shut up!” I shouted, the lady looked again, and coughed her disapproval this time. “Sorry ma’am…” Come on elevator. Oh yeah, I didn’t push the button. I push the button and luckily the door opens quickly. I enter the lift and am instantly assaulted with that music they pump into the speakers to make your trip more ‘enjoyable’. I can personally say it does the exact, excruciating opposite. The doors close. Above the door is a screen that highlights the floor I am on. Floor 1, G was below us, the parking lot. So that means 16 more floors to go. Not too far to travel for my appointment. 

The lights flicker, I hate it when they do that. I press the button for floor 17 and bump number 15 in the process. Good one idiot. 

“I know, I know, but not now. You’ll be gone soon, but not now please.” The voice sometimes listened, this time luckily, it did. The elevator began to move, slowly, slowly. I can hear the elevator moving, even over the sound of the torturous music. The music fades out, the song changes. The speaker crackles and the lights flicker. The music fades out. The music stops. 

“Thank Christ!” I exclaimed; the voice agreed. While I was revelling in my pseudo victory of the music fading, the lights flickered again. 

They turned off. I was plunged into sudden darkness. The elevator shook as it came to a sudden, jarring halt. The wall seemed to come up to meet me, or I met the wall, either way it hurt like a bitch. I stumbled for the emergency button. Rubbing my head at the same time where I struck the wall. Locating the button, I hit it repeatedly, nothing. No voice. No beep. Not even static. 

“Help! HEEELP!” I screamed, the walls are getting closer, I can feel them. “Someone, anyone help!” 

Heeelp, heeeelp! The voice said in a mocking tone, followed with laughter, bitter laughter. I ignored it, there are more pressing matters at hand. 

The elevator suddenly filled with a red glow as the emergency battery lights came on. I wonder what floor I’m on. Last I saw it was the 12th floor, but I could have misread. At least the music is gone. Small blessings. 

“Someone will surely come and help me soon.” I said out loud to reassure myself. “Not long at all.” Too bad I’ll miss my out on my appointment. I’m sure Dr. Mishka will reschedule. 

Mishka, kissed ya. Mishka kissed ya. Or that’s what you’d like her to do anyway you sick prick. 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I held my fists to my temples. No. No. Not like this. I’m a little tea pot, short and stout. Shut up stupid voice, get the fuck out. No. Stop. Short and stout. Here is my handle.

You are short and stout, and Dr. Mishka doesn’t wanna kiss ya. Fat-fat-fatty.

“Go away!” The voice did. It liked to tease and leave.

The elevator shook and I fell. No. The elevator fell, and I fell with it. The floor was just as welcoming as the wall. Just. As. Welcoming. 

Sucked in fatty

“Get out of my head!” 

Get off the floor

“Where is someone to help!” I said, ignoring the voice. How long have I been here? It feels like hours. Did I pass out when I hit my head? At least the music’s still gone.

Do, do do, da, doo, do, do. Great, now the voice is imitating the damn music.

“Leave me alone. I need to think.” I scanned the room, the elevator, the tiny little room. Getting smaller. No. That is just in my head and Dr. Mishka would agree. She’s so beautiful, and sexy and the voice is right. I do want to kiss her. And she won’t want to kiss me. Can’t or won’t. It doesn’t matter to me, because it isn’t going to happen. Especially if I die in here.

Oh yeah, you’re going to die in here fatty fat fatty. Die slow and suffer. Just like that girl. Remember her?

I did. I could never forget that. The voice would never let me forget it.

Remember how she felt? Remember the taste?

I did. I did. I didn’t want to, but I did. “Stop it. Dr. Mishka said not to bring that up. Not yet. It’s not time.”

Fine. But there won’t be time later. You are going to die here.

I ignored the voice again and started my search of the elevator. Nothing on the roof but the red light. Nothing on the walls but the reflective metal. The speaker could be useful? Or not. No. I don’t know how I could use it.

Yeah, cause you suck.

“You suck!” Immature, I know, but it had to be said. 

It’s so hot in here. I can’t stand it.

Yeah, you’re going to die, it’s that hot.

I took my jacket off to alleviate the heat a little. I’d tried to dress nice for Dr. Mishka. 

You look like shit.

“Stop it.” The voice wasn’t wrong. I know it’s not wrong. I know it’s not wrong. But I still wanted to try and look nice. “Why don’t you do something helpful and figure out a way out of here?” I asked the voice.

Why don’t you go to hell, like that girl? Remember her?

“Stop talking about her. I told you to stop talking about her.”

Why? You know you love it. When you made that first cut. That first delicate incision.

“Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!” I punched the wall and pulled my hair. Both things Dr. Mishka warned me against. I’m a little tea pot, I’m a little tea….pot.

There was a pot plant in the corner! How did I not notice that before! I grabbed it and dragged it to the centre of the elevator. It is so heavy, but I manage the task. I stand on it to see if I can pry the top hatch open. No luck, it’s sealed shut. They obviously don’t need the hatch for maintenance. I hop down and drag it back out of the way. How did it not move when the elevator dropped? 

Cause it’s too heavy?

The voice was trying to be helpful. First time for everything. Not helpful enough though. I’m still trapped. 

You want help? Fat-fatty? Check your pocket. Check it. Check it. 

“Alright!” I reach my hand into my pocket. My swiss army knife! I forgot I had that. I always had that. No one knew I had it. I wasn’t supposed to have it.

But I do!

Use it. Use it. Use. It.

“How?”

Do I have to do everything for you? Like with the girl?

“Shut up about her. But yes. Tell me how.”

Pry the panel open, below the buttons. Break it if you have to. When it’s open or broken cut the yellow wire.

“Wait, cut a wire?”

When I tell you to cut you cut, remember the girl?

“Ok. Ok.” I did as the voice suggested, the panel was open. I found the yellow wire, looks more orange in the light, and cut it. The elevator dropped again, creaking, groaning and flew down more levels. I hit the ceiling and landed on the floor. The pot plant moved this time. It moved and crushed my leg. I felt and heard it break.

“Aaaargh!” The pain was unbearable. “Why would you tell me to cut the wire?”

I tell you to cut, you cut! Remember the girl!

“You are not Dr. Mishka. I can only talk to her! Get out of my head.” I slap the side of my head. “Get out, get out.”

No, no, no, no! You need to face it, remember. Remember. Remember the first cut.

“I DO REMEMBER! I DO! But please don’t make me say it. You’re not Dr. Mishka.”

Aren’t I? Are you sure?

“I am sure, I am.” But am I? There’s no way. Dr. Mishka is waiting for me on the 17th floor. She’s going to fix my problems. She will. She will. 

How can she fix your problems? No one can fix you. You’re broken and scarred and bruised and fat. She’ll never love you.

“God, why are you so mean to me?”

Cause you deserve it. You deserve everything that comes to you. Do you remember the girl?

Of course, I remember. Why does it keep asking me? 

Then tell me. Tell me you remember. Tell me what you did.

I can’t tell the voice. I can’t say it out loud. Why is this happening to me? When will the damn power come back on so that I can get to Dr. Mishka. She can help me. She can make the voice go away. 

She can’t help you until you say what you did. Remember the girl. Remember the first cut.

“Why can’t I say it?”

Cause you’re a chicken shit, fat-fuck, but you need to remember. Or this will never end for you

“What do you mean never end?” The voice grew silent once more. I need to remember. I’m a little tea pot, short and stout. Why the song? Why did Dr. Mishka tell me to use that song as a calming device. Or did she? Why can’t I remem…. The elevator dropped once more, why does it feel like there are more floors than I originally thought?

Do you remember?

Do you remember?

Do you remember?

Do you-

“YES! GOD DAMMIT YES!” it all hits me like a flood. My last session with Dr. Mishka. Though she wasn’t a doctor. No. Not at all. She wasn’t a doctor. She was only 18. She couldn’t be a doctor at 18. Could she? She was pouring tea for…. Me? I don’t drink tea. I told her I don’t drink tea. GET ME A BEER BITCH. I rub my temples in confusion. Why would I say that?

Yes, that’s right. Remember. Time is ticking away.

“I…. I…. hit her. Didn’t I?”

Oh yes you did Arthur my boy. Yes, you fucking did. And it felt nice didn’t it?

“No! It felt horrible. I hit her. I HIT HER!” I remember it all now. Mishka. I found her, she came for me, but she wasn’t happy here. She didn’t want to be my wife. 

MY WIFE.

But she didn’t want to be did she?

“No…. she refused. She only wanted to come to the country. I wanted love. She used me. Said I was fat. Not like the men back home, the real men. So I hit her. I hit her, then I hit her.”

Yes. Then what?

“I…. I cut her…. With my knife. I’m not supposed to have the knife though… I’m not… I like to cut. Don’t I? Yes. I do. I FUCKING love to cut. 

Yes, you do. And that makes you what?

“A monster. I am a monster. And that first cut. God, I remember it… I don’t want to remember it, but I do…. Then the second cut. The Third, the fourth. The screams. I killed her.” I am a monster. This elevator has been my therapy, my prison but it needs to be more. It need to be my grave.

Oh never-mind that. You’re grave is elsewhere. This… well this is more than a grave. This is your own personal….

“Hell.” I said, as it all clicked into place. All the memories realigned, and the puzzle was complete. I killed her. I enjoyed it; I was subsequently killed in a stand-off with police. A stand-off I started when I walked the street, cutting and stabbing like I was my own man. Finally, my own man. Shouting, ‘Fuck everyone. Fuck Mishka, and Romona, and Eric and Troy and everyone who has ever messed with me. Fuck them.’ Sixteen bullets filled my body, I died and now I’m here.

Bingo fat-fatty-fat fuck. See you for the next go round. 

“Wait… what?” I asked, one second too late as the elevator plummeted, further and further, through the ground, falling impossibly fast, impossibly long. Darkness engulfed me accompanied by excruciating pain.

It’s dark. I’m scared. I’m not alone. It’s dark…. Cold.

And I’m going to be late for my appointment on the 17th floor.