The Elevator

The funny ending.

Okay Julie and Malickae, no more death threats. Here's an alternate ending (:

The Funny Ending~

"Hello, Martin," she said, and laughed, and pushed the Stop button.

Martin stood still as Michaelangelo's David statue. He averted his brown eyes from the fat lady's killer stare, as he stared down at his ratty, old, black Converse.

"Um, uh, um," Martin began to speak, as he dared to look into her small, blue eyes.

"Martin, darling," the fat lady said as she cut Martin off from his stuttering. "You know exactly what I want, isn't that correct?"

The first thought that entered Martin's young mind was to pull off the left strap of his backpack, while straddling the right one on his shoulder. He unzipped his green bag and reached in. Martin struggled to balance on his crutches and hold the backpack on his bony shoulder at the same time. He continued to fumble around, searching for what he figured the fat lady wanted from him.

"Martin," the fat lady said once again. "I can smell those peanut butter cooookkkiieeeessss," she sang.

That wasn't at all what Martin was expecting. He was looking for his Spider-Man wallet that he won from Pac's, the arcade down the street. All he had was a five dollar bill and a penny he found while at the hospital. He knew he shouldn't have picked up the damned thing. It was on tails, which was probably why he was having such bad luck that morning. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. Or at least he used to have, until he apparently misplaced his childish wallet.

He suddenly snapped out of his daze and continued ruffling through his old backpack. His father hasn't had the time of the day for poor Martin, and he hadn't gotten a new backpack in four years.

He was still in search of the cookies. This woman must have super senses or something, because Martin couldn't even remember when he put them in there, although it was recent, that much he had known for sure.

The fat lady had been staring at Martin that whole time, with an amused look on her oily, pudgy face. She wore a creepy, ear splitting smile, showing off her yellowing teeth. Martin involuntarily shuddered when he looked up and saw the lady, in all of her fat glory, staring him down.

For anyone else, this could have been an easier task. Then again, Martin was on crutches, going through his bag, and attempting not to pass out from the suspension of how the fat lady knew who he was.

'How does she even know my name?' Martin thought to himself.

Martin let out a sigh of relief moments later when his hand enclosed around some cookies wrapped in a napkin. Or so he thought it was a napkin.

It was his gym sock from last year. He would know since he just started at a new school a week prior.

The fat lady didn't even care that the cookies were wrapped in Martin's old, smelly, black sock from when he had to run laps after he pissed off Mr. Morris, his coach, for not being as active as the other kids in his class were. This resulted in Martin having to run eight laps around the white and red track at his middle school, all in under twenty minutes. If not completed, it would add another four laps into the mix. That had happened more often than not to the scrawny boy known as Martin Grimes.

The fat lady nearly jumped out of her green coat when she saw the round end of a cookie poking out of the sock. Martin had no idea how they even ended up in there in the first place. This didn't phase her at all, for she grabbed them with her hands, her stubby fingers unwrapping the cookies from the sock ever so gently, as if they were glass.

Martin grimaced when she stuffed a whole cookie in her mouth, causing her eyes to flutter shut and moan in pleasure, which made Martin more uncomfortable than he already was.

Martin was in the midst of zipping up his backpack when she had opened her mouth to speak once again.

"Oh, and don't think I can't smell those crackers either, Martin," The fat lady said between taking bites of the peanut butter cookies that Terry Ullman had dropped off sometime this past week.

Martin's jaw dropped open. How did she know this stuff?

'Jesus Christ,' Martin thought as he unzipped his backpack once more. He was a bit ticked off.

Martin reached his hand into a small, hidden pocket inside of the bag. He pulled out a package of six orange crackers with peanut butter in the middle. With a shaking hand, Martin tossed the crackers over to the fat lady who still had two cookies in her right hand.

She smirked and nodded, a way of her saying thank you, or so Martin figured.

The fat lady pushed the stop button again, making the elevator move. She then pushed seventeen-Martin's floor-with her sausage-like finger.

Another question that Martin needed to know, How does she know where I live?

"Stop looking so scared, would ya?" The fat lady laughed, which caused her to snort. "You're name is sewn on your backpack, Martin," she said and emphasized his name.

Before he could piece together a response, she added, "And I saw the girl scouts stop by your apartment the day you moved in. I'll be expecting those Thin Mints tomorrow, okay?"

Martin nodded like the coward his father says he is. He figured if he didn't comply, then she would somehow find him, kidnap him, and possibly eat his skinny self. Martin was a paranoid mess.

"Until tomorrow, Martin," the fat lady said with a sly smile and winked. Martin tried his best not to dry heave right then and there.

The elevator continued its journey to the seventeenth floor. Martin tried his best to look at everything in the isolated room, except for her. This proved to be quite hard, considering that she basically took up the entire elevator with her overweight figure.

At the fifteenth floor, she decided to add in a few more words. As if Martin didn't already wish he was dead after that day.

"Martin," the fat lady sniffed the air while she talked. She sounded like a pig as she did so. "Don't even try to hide the Pop Tarts. I can smell them. What flavor are they? Strawberry?"

Martin was beyond shocked at that point in time. Seriously though, did she have some sort of sixth sense for smelling food that isn't near?

He over dramatically sighed and unzipped his green backpack for the umpteenth time that he had been in the elevator.

The elevator came to halt and the doors slid open at very slow pace. Martin quickened his search and reached into his blue binder, where he kept food that he would secretly eat in homeroom. He sluggishly handed them over to the obese woman and didn't even bother zipping up his bag. He stood straight up on his crutches and hobbled away as fast as he could to his apartment room.

Although, as the doors closed, he nearly threw up on his neighbor's door when he heard the fat lady moaning over the strawberry PopTarts.

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