Part I

The bathroom was empty, perfect for taking a really loud shit. He always a penchant for holding it until he couldn’t any longer and, at that point, one has to accept what they get. He'd found himself waiting for a stall before so a deserted bathroom made him feel like someone was smiling down on him from above. Even if the shit turns out not-so-loud, it’s nice to just relax without being the weirdo in the stall for so long that people wonder what’s going on. Or there’s someone waiting, like he had when he could barely hold it in. So he couldn’t truly relax - listening for people filling the other stalls, watching for feet. But the one downside to an unoccupied bathroom is that with its’ lack of people… the motion sensitive lighting stops to save the company money on electricity.

Suddenly, he was the least relaxed he could be. If he didn’t want to be the guy in the stall so long people think he’s masturbating or something, then he really didn’t want to be the guy shitting in the pitch black dark if someone came in. He wiped his ass in the dark - which actually does feel like it might be less accurate or thorough somehow like the lights being on could help someone see their own ass better - and quickly pulled up his pants and… struggled to open the stall door mere inches away. Perhaps it was the struggle to even open the stall door that flustered him and killed his confidence just as his exit began that set him on the path to failure or maybe he was doomed from the start after years of so heavily relying on his sense of sight. Whatever it was, he managed to get out of the stall and began reaching around to avoid bumping into anything or walking into a wall. In his mind, he pictured it - someone walking in on him was his arms out wide, his fly possibly still down. These thoughts were not helping, but one must be prepared to face extreme humiliation. He knew he had not washed his hands, would they? In his shame, would he rush out and they’d be repulsed he skipped the sink? Would he stick around, face red, to wash his filthy hands? How filthy were they? It was too dark to see. It truly was amazing how pitch black the bathroom was. There was a tiny bit of light from the crack of the door to guide him if he’d somehow lost his sense of direction while in the stall.

I've been writing a tiny bit and fighting the urge to post “content” so I can release a zine, but I didn’t want to boot up the computer so I tried writing on my phone. Don’t know if it’s worse or about the same. Anyway, naturally, I wrote about public restrooms. I’m obsessed with this as the beginning of some horror story ever since it happened to me during the pandemic at work, in fact I think I’ve written this before, but practice makes perfect. The directions the story can go from here are endless.