[lie] - dark humour (written for Literature in Drama)
All rights reserved.
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His heart beats at a rapid staccato, and he is trying his best to keep his breath.
Run. The voice in his head tells him, and he doesn't bother to question it.
He sprints for the door at the end of the hallway, and each step he takes seems like a step closer to getting all sense of calmness back to his very being.
A monster... A monster is behind you.
He swallows deeply as he braces himself for the wooden door that seems like his perfect haven. He does not think, and by the time his body hits hard against the painted, rectangular piece of mahogany, it was too late for it to numb the throbbing pain in his right arm.
He curses under his breath, cradling his injured limb. It's locked, you fool. The voice scolds him, and even then he doesn't bother to argue.
His eyes widen in realisation. His only place of safety left... Has locked him out of itself.
"Open the door!" he screams, pounding the door with his left fist. In his peripheral vision, he can see a shadow, stalking him... Taunting him. "Open. The. Damn. Door!" he yells even louder, but the shield does not move or even creak at his bangings.
His voice is barely audible by now; nothing more than a squeak of plea. "Please." He manages to utter, leaning against the wall, all faith slowly dissipating.
His vision is blurred. All hope that was in him is fading quickly. He feels his body about to succumb to the pain in his stomach when he hears the sound of the door's lock twist.
Click.
A bulky figure steps out from the door cautiously, but, with renewed energy and faith, the man pulls the figure out of the room, not caring to look at the person's face. He can fend for himself, the man thinks, rushing into the room and slamming the door shut behind him.
The man pulls down his jeans, and sits on the one thing that could relieve him of his pain: the toilet bowl.
He closes his eyes and smiles in satisfaction.
Bliss.
