07-14-2017, 09:29 AM
Triumphantly you reach the top, but the man has recovered at the bottom of the stairwell and is beginning to resume the chase. Rather than the turnstile exit you expected, you find yourself at a T intersection. Left or right, which is it your mind asks with abandon.
Left it screams, and you move towards the left.
“HELP! HELP ME!” you scream, hoping to catch the ear of a station attendant or just a good samaritan. You run, and run, racing down the intersection’s tunnel and finally reach its terminus. A yellow stain reads, “Men's” and another reads, “Womens,” each with an arrow pointing into bathroom stalls. You turn and gaze down the length of the intersection’s tunnel and see that the man and his basket have reached the top of the stairs.
Tock...tock...tock…
He is coming for you.
Perhaps it was habit, but you dive into the women’s bathroom. The black and white checkered tiled floor is unmopped and stinks of urine more than even the homeless woman you sat alongside on the train just moments ago. Pantingly, you place your hands against the lip of the bathroom sink and try to catch your breath. You look into the cracked mirror and your face is a mask of terror. You need to get it together, you need to be quiet, you need to find your wits if you want to get out of here alive.
Tock...tock...tock…
He is growing nearer.
You spin around and look at the three bathroom stall doors. The first door is closed.
“Hello?” you whisper with fear tinging your voice. “Is there anyone else here?”
No answer.
You rattle the door but it's locked. “Shit!” you mutter to yourself. You turn to the mirror and face the empty sink. Taking your purse, you empty its contents into the basin and finger through all the random junk that pours out, hoping to find a weapon.
Lipstick tube, compact, wallet, four subway tokens, a coupon for Burger Delight, a cigarette lighter, a pack of gum and a nail file. Nothing!
You turn around again, but this time bend low and look under the two foot high space between the floor and the stall door. Again to your frustration, there is no one inside. You look into the second stall and see nothing but a toilet with an old turd sitting at the bottom of the bowl and a puddle of piss on the floor. Instinctively you wrinkle your nose and move to the third stall.
Tock...tock...tock…
You push the third door open and it creaks slightly, setting you more on edge. The stall is cleaner than the second so you walk inside and close the door. Sitting on the toilet seat, you cover your mouth with your hand and try to remain as silent as you can. Suddenly, a brilliant idea comes to mind. You raise your feet above the bottom of the stall door and rest them on the top of the toilet seat. You hug your knees atop the commode, waiting for your chance to escape.
Left it screams, and you move towards the left.
“HELP! HELP ME!” you scream, hoping to catch the ear of a station attendant or just a good samaritan. You run, and run, racing down the intersection’s tunnel and finally reach its terminus. A yellow stain reads, “Men's” and another reads, “Womens,” each with an arrow pointing into bathroom stalls. You turn and gaze down the length of the intersection’s tunnel and see that the man and his basket have reached the top of the stairs.
Tock...tock...tock…
He is coming for you.
Perhaps it was habit, but you dive into the women’s bathroom. The black and white checkered tiled floor is unmopped and stinks of urine more than even the homeless woman you sat alongside on the train just moments ago. Pantingly, you place your hands against the lip of the bathroom sink and try to catch your breath. You look into the cracked mirror and your face is a mask of terror. You need to get it together, you need to be quiet, you need to find your wits if you want to get out of here alive.
Tock...tock...tock…
He is growing nearer.
You spin around and look at the three bathroom stall doors. The first door is closed.
“Hello?” you whisper with fear tinging your voice. “Is there anyone else here?”
No answer.
You rattle the door but it's locked. “Shit!” you mutter to yourself. You turn to the mirror and face the empty sink. Taking your purse, you empty its contents into the basin and finger through all the random junk that pours out, hoping to find a weapon.
Lipstick tube, compact, wallet, four subway tokens, a coupon for Burger Delight, a cigarette lighter, a pack of gum and a nail file. Nothing!
You turn around again, but this time bend low and look under the two foot high space between the floor and the stall door. Again to your frustration, there is no one inside. You look into the second stall and see nothing but a toilet with an old turd sitting at the bottom of the bowl and a puddle of piss on the floor. Instinctively you wrinkle your nose and move to the third stall.
Tock...tock...tock…
You push the third door open and it creaks slightly, setting you more on edge. The stall is cleaner than the second so you walk inside and close the door. Sitting on the toilet seat, you cover your mouth with your hand and try to remain as silent as you can. Suddenly, a brilliant idea comes to mind. You raise your feet above the bottom of the stall door and rest them on the top of the toilet seat. You hug your knees atop the commode, waiting for your chance to escape.