It's Not What It Looks Like

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ | ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ

‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

𝐈𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥.

Those impressions, however, were formed way before she was forced to hide inside of the girl's bathroom.

Although, if you try very hard to ignore all of its defining characteristics, the school bathroom doesn't even seem like such a bad place to spend the rest of your life. Mena has everything she needs right here, within these four walls.

Her current possessions include three entire pieces of toilet paper, a black sharpie, and a pack of gum that has been washed along with her jeans far too many times. She's even provided with free entertainment in the form of endlessly witty truisms written on the very walls she's trapped in.

And... Well.

Yeah.

That's pretty much it.

But it's fine. She can totally dig a minimalist lifestyle.

Good luck, reads the sign above the toilet seat, written in pink gel pen. Mena appreciates this, since luck is something she'll definitely need. Probably not for whatever the original author had in mind, but still. It's the thought that counts.

She sits there for a bit, her chin resting on her knees, and just takes it all in. This will, after all, be her new home; so, she might as well get familiar with her surroundings.

Starting simple. What can she see? A pair of shoes (hot pink docs martens, nice) two stalls over. A door, scribbled on by generations dating back to the amoeba. She takes her own sharpie out, and absentmindedly pays her homage to the rich historical heritage of Silverwood High.

What can she feel? The cold tiles against her back, mostly. The beat of her pulse, quicker than usual from all the fast-paced walking.

What can she smell?

Well.

She'd rather not get into this one too much, but the harsh fragrance of cleaning chemicals prevails. Though, she does suppose Mr Clean is a far better option than some alternatives.

What can she hear? The wind, shaking the windows. The gossiping of the people at the sinks. A sad, quiet, sound, which she's pretty sure is the owner of the pink docs crying from two stalls over. A loud slam of the door from not too far away, and an- ... Oh.

Yup. That... That is definitely a moan.

Great. Now someone's making out, right next to the crying person. Mena is pretty sure that the sobs get a tad bit louder.

Which, okay.

Understandable.

It's rather homey, all in all; even if her neighbours do leave some things to be desired. It could be better, of course. It could, for example, not be a school bathroom. But isn't that always the case? Isn't it an indispensable part of human nature, to want what you don't have?

This will be great, Mena decides.

She'll have a good, prosperous, life here.

The door of the bathroom squeals open. Click Clack. The sound of steps echoes against the floor, until two designer boots plant themselves right in front of Mena's stall. A knock follows not long after.