Features #1: Observational Writing

Monday 20th November, 12:30pm: Westminster Uni Main Entrance Lifts

“Doors opening. Lift going up.”

Brown, tinged, institutional portal. Squeezing voices, sound that’s near and moves away, distant. “Doors closing.” Slam! Clug, clug, clug. “Second floor.”

“He did good den init. No no, you need to get seven. Seven is good. Man with hat is good. Oh my god, they are something man.” “Ya going up?”

“Lift going up, doors closing.” Bounce, wiggle, bounce. “Doors closing. Seventh floor.”

Yellowed, grey light falls on discarded paper. A slight hum of sound. Crossed legs in white trainers fill the dark tea stained air of the enclosed space. “Ground floor.”

“Aiya ya ya yai. Waz dis man. Ave you gotta problem with my hair cut you?” “Yeah.”

Slight hum sound. Click, whir, fizzle, wires. “Doors opening.”

View light, a window in the distance. Contrast and calm. Green, bright impact. A railway line, white houses. “Door’s closing.” Light fades. White trainers, slouching body.

Round black rubber disc floor. OTIS, brass metal, mess, muck, rail, dirtied walls. Graffiti tags. Cranking shaft.

“Ground floor.” Keys jangle. “Doors closing.” Ting, jang. Shuffling white trainers. Doors, light, slam. Whurrrr, whurrrr. whurrr, turning cogs working beneath and above.

“Mind the doors please.”

Red light, red numbers, flash and change. Red G. Fingers reach for button. Calling buttons, found and pressed. Arrows up, arrows down. LED changes. Ca-lick, ca-lick, ca-lick. Yellow triangle exclamation fights for attention on wall.

“Wha numba you going please.” Upbeat, polite voice speaks over the swish, wish, turn.

Large umbrella tap tap tap. Tap, clunk, giggle. Laughter fades. “Mind the doors please.”

“I do not know what room dis is. Last one, yeh dis is.” “I not done much, the guy goes, have you started – my project, easy man. What project’s about.”

“Mind the doors please.” Chug, whir, chug, whir.

Metallic catchings. Quietness. Lights hum. Strange capsule caught in silent time, speech trapped. “Doors opening.”

Corridor, sound passing, echoing, bouncing.

“I thought my dad was light. No reeeeally.” Three jolts. “Doors closing.” A girl in a pink woolly jumper, checks, ruffles and flattens hair. “Ground floor.”

Silence. Whir, whir, whir. Plastic, round, rubber, circles. Whistling in the distance. Wha wher wha, whistle fades.

Tongue clicking. “Third floor.” Laughter. Silence. “Everyone’s talking about it and it works out that all the DJs are gonna be there.” Bottle falls, the lid is lost.

“What did you do it today. I ain’t even looked, is the results up. I doan wanna look either man. You have to go to classroom.” “Second floor.” Hands move forward and knuckles touch, tapping - and again. “I’ll call ya”.

Silence. Sniff. “Third floor.” Sniff.

Press, press, press. “It going up.” Press, press, press.

Mirror check. Look close. “I’ve got so many flippin spots.” “Welcome to bloody orange world”.