Safe

Prompt: Finding solace in an airport bathroom.


I never should have watched that Netflix special on the hidden cruelty of airport security.

“Ma’am, this isn’t jail, you can keep your clothes on.” The balding one with a frown declared.

I had already stripped down to my Winx Club underwear and fuchsia bra – which I had just started to unclip. “Never!” I screamed, throwing the bra onto his shiny bald head like a horseshoe. “I know what you did to that poor man! I will not go behind that closed door with you and be manipulated into unwanted sex acts! If you want to pat me down, let all witness your evil ways.”

Moving my fingers to the hem of my underwear, I started hopping as the too-small cotton panties caught on my nubby knees, when, out of nowhere I was tackled by a large woman named Steve.

She tossed a scratchy blue airport blanket over me, hauled my body over her shoulder and marched me towards the Hut of Evil. But I refused. They’d never take me alive.

I kneed her in the face. Nose cracking and blood gushing, Steve screamed. A spray of congealing warm liquid slithered down my leg, creating just enough lubricant for me to slip out of her grasp.

I ran, barefoot and naked around the airport, looking for a place to hide from the malicious life-altering security officers and as far away as possible from the strip-searching Hut of Evil.

I hopped over rolling suitcases, knocked over a display of magnets and shoved the slow-moving travel bound pedestrians out of the way.

My escape, I decided, would be in a locked door under the neon blue family bathroom sign.

With a triumphant scream to make even the warriors of Wonder Women proud, I rushed in and locked the door.

Safe.

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