Elevator Ease

The elevator tried to eat me again

Wednesday has come around again and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.

Huffing, Emery shoved the unlatched door and stumbled into the conference room. Low conversations stilled as attention snapped to her juggling her pad and loose papers. Heat seared her cheeks.

“The elevator tried to eat me again,” she mumbled, dashing through chuckles to her seat. The only empty seat. Great.

Lyle swiveled toward her mouth open. Before he could poke at her elevator probability distortion powers, Dante called the meeting to order.

“Command upped the harvesting quota. The demand for mystical materials has doubled to continue FTL space exploration.” Groans met his announcement. “And they’ve denied the new hire budget.”

“What?” Lyle slumped, crossing his arms. “Are we supposed to magically produce more time too?” A murmur of consensus erupted from the others. Not that their opinions mattered. What command wanted, command got, and Emery’s job was to make it happen.

Tapping the pad, she gnawed her cheek waiting for the schedules to load and ignoring the surrounding dithering. She grunted. Lyle’s team, currently on the gardens and crystal harmonization, had the lightest work, but if switched them she’d get his bellyaching.

The lights snaped off as voices bellowed in the hallway. Her pad illuminated their faces as they glanced at the door listening to the swearing. A phrase cut through clearly, the gremlins were loose again. Her elevator malfunction hadn’t been isolated.

How command expected them to deliver when the facilities continuously failed to contain the mystics? But again, that was her problem. Not commands. Emory groaned.

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