Sparrow

I never really thought much about how I wanted to die. I mean, who really does that, anyway? Spends their time mulling over how they'd want to go? I would think a lot of people would prefer to die of old age surrounded by their loved ones. A long life of adventure.

Maybe others would find a long life boring. Those would be the people to live their lives on the edge and leave a corpse that needed to be hidden from their loved ones. But, to each their own.

Again, I don't know how I wanted to go out. Though I know I didn't want to die in a bathroom. And I certainly didn't want to get eaten alive in a public bathroom.

Maybe we don't get to choose, though. Maybe I was destined to become a smear next to some poorly drawn penis or someone's horrible poem about how pathetic their life was.

I stared at the graffiti written over the green stall around me with a tight frown. The thudding metal, as if some impatient person was about to crap their pants and needed in the stall I was in, was barely held together with a few, lousy rusty screws. At least the stall was just close enough to the ground that all I mostly saw were the shadows of the creatures trying to claw me to pieces.

Why did I have to be stubborn and think I could make this supply run on my own?

My sneakers barely had any traction on the toilet. It was missing a toilet seat, and I was balancing on my toes as if every ballet lesson from my childhood was finally paying off. Both of my hands were beside me, my palms pressed against the walls of the stall for support.

The grime beneath my hands was the least of my worries. If I couldn't figure out a way to get out of the stall, I was going to be ripped to shreds. And my family would chase me into the afterlife with the biggest 'I told you so' for running off on my own.

Glancing beneath me, I looked into the toilet at the dangerously close, brown water with a groan. I don't know why I even bothered myself with the concern of slipping into it when there was a very real possibility of my guts being ripped out of my stomach. But, a girl couldn't help it.

The creatures outside sounded determined, even overly tenacious, to rip their sharp teeth through my flesh. Their cries were like nails on a chalkboard, a mix of a high-pitched scream and a hiss like hot water boiling over.

I'd never seen so many of them up close. The ones from below—the Blares. Aptly named for their loud cries. I felt like my head was spinning just from being in a room with them.

It was their appearance that was even more head-spinning. Though I couldn't see them from where I was, I could spy their webbed feet flopping about. Claws scraping along the white tiles reminded me of sharp bird talons. Their amphibious bodies had adapted well to the land, especially once they started rapidly evolving.

Amongst the webbed feet, I even spotted a few shoes and bare feet. Which meant the infected were amongst them as well.

Great.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I contemplated my next move. Then, I heard the small window above my head open.