Like A Rat

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