Bathroom escape no. 1
by Janet McGinness

She had her first job and her first suit, a pale pink linen that wrinkled fiercely against her slouching frame. She was working quietly at her desk, inwardly distracted by the idea of the lively city bustling outside and fighting off a vicious urge to nap. She looked out at the small patch of blue sky visible from her cubicle and back again at her computer screen. She realized then that there was possibly nothing but a thick dull line of plodding progress between this day and her death.

She wanted to run out of the office but she was much too responsible to do anything so bold.

So she stood up, smoothed out her wrinkly suit and went to find the bathroom. In a town where no one was really ever alone, she needed solitude. She thought it might also be possible that she would cry. Except she was really bad at crying on cue so it seemed more likely she would just feel incredibly sad and lost for a little bit in the tiny stall.

That seemed like enough for her.

Yeah, she thought. Just like everything else had seemed like enough for her until the moment she wondered if this was all there was before she died.

Where was the damn bathroom?

IMAGE: Wrinkled pink linen suit available at


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Janet McGinness enjoys writing prose and poetry in her spare time.  She is a working mother and dog owner.  Her greatest joy is time alone in the bathroom, especially if no one has used all the hot water.