MicroHorror

My friends and I find a place with homemade clam chowder. I buy macaroni and cheese and some kind of shrimp salad. We gather around a table and chat. Perhaps I should buy dessert. Ooh, what an important decision. I laugh to myself that everyday I, everyone, makes these empty choices that will not affect, cannot affect, the rest of the cosmos. There are more important things to consider.

I take a trip to the public restroom and it is empty as a skull. I peer around, wondering why there are no people in here, since the food court is packed. After leaving my mark, I walk over to the mirror, footsteps echoing, the noise from the restaurants not reaching into this cave. Water splashes my face and I look deep into the mirror. Slowly, I wet my long, brown hair, pushing it from my face, when my pulse starts pounding and stomach cramps force me to the floor. I vomit the fishy contents of my stomach onto the tile. I feel the change come on me so suddenly, there is no time to stop it.

I am crouching against the sink when a wrinkled janitor tells me to flush the damn toilet after I use it. I stand up, towering over him, and he screams. My hands move to stop his noise, and crush his throat to a pulp. I pull the body into a stall to feed, hungry after the loss of my lunch, and when I’m done, I slowly gain control of my body. I walk out and blend into the crowd, making my way back to the Clam Bake Hut.