Clutching Fear

by Rebekah Sue Harris

As I passed her at the door frame, I couldn't help but notice something white clutched in her hand, like Jo March's soiled glove. I went through as she walked out, and was assaulted by the scent of cloves and stale gas. While my surroundings were new, I couldn't help but notice the many-times painted grate, as old fashioned as something in my grammar school, or a grandmother's house. I stepped beyond the yellow light, through the second door frame. UGH - the woman who had used a paper towel to open the door, fearing germs, had peed all over the seat. I sighed, walked back to the sink, and got some paper towels and soap, because I didn't want her germs on my lily-white hiney.

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Rebekah Sue Harris is the editor of Modified News. She has a great family, a laptop named Floyd, hundreds of books, dozens of tattoos, a full-sized tricycle, chronic pain, and a cat named Heyboy. One or all of these will be the death of her.