Trapped with nowhere to run. |
I was caught. Pure and simple. I was in trouble. The angry slaps of five or six open hands against the door soon became the maniacal pounding of nineteen or twenty hardened fists. "Think man!” I said to myself. “Think!” With the unceasing din of the voices as well as the pounding against the wood growing by the second, I couldn’t keep a thought in my head--much less form any kind of escape plan. My heart raced. Only a mad man would go out into the horror awaiting on the other side of my locked door. I could see them in my mind as they grabbed me and forced me to the floor. I would be kicked, punched, spat upon, and ripped to pieces. I also knew that if I didn’t open the door and go out there on my own, the door would be ripped from its hinges, and I would be brought out, kicking and screaming.. I had made a huge and fatal error. For the first time in my life I felt sorrow for Benito Mussolini and what the poor man must have gone through before he was hung from the gas station rafters. A hissing began the instant I slid the bolt back from the door. I thought about running, making a blind dash through the seething throng. There were too many of them! I covered my face with my arms and began backing toward the exit. It was really my only chance. “Now just hold on,” I was saying. “Hold on! Let me explain!” They couldn’t hear me and they wouldn’t hear me! I tried to make a dash for it. My chances were slim, but what other choice did I have? The first five yards felt like miles. They were hurling insults— vile, vicious, ugly insults as I fled. Couldn’t they understand? I mean, come on! Like none of these women ever accidentally walked into the men’s room before! 324 Words |