Locker

My breath comes fast and shallow. Desperate gulps ripped from the air against the rising tide of panic. The metal confines press into me from all sides, locking my arms in an awkward angle. Its surface runs slick with my cold sweat. I struggle, I kick, I scream against the unyielding walls, but their vice-like grip only contracts further on me, squeezing my lungs dry. “Let me out!” The little air left to me is thick and stifling. I’m going to die in here. Please, please, please…

"You’re such a wuss Casey. It’s just a prank! See you after lunch.”