Revised story: Pillage

[Anonymous No.1137946]

Gurgles and gassy gasps rumbled inside his intestines. The clean counter and faucets gleamed underneath mirrors free of spots. The door didn't even squeak when it opened. Its stainless steel handle and bolt were free of rust, dirt, or sweaty smudges of fingerprints.

And no first flush needed. The stall’s cleanliness, the absence of marks of others, soothed him. The white toilet stood ready. Unbuckled belt, unzipped zipper, pants crumpled down onto the shoes. He squatted. His head bent down to the tile. He stared at the soft brown and black diamonds laid in neat patterns against the larger off-white squares.

His struggle began. It was always a struggle, with grunts and groans signifying each victory or defeat against his troubled digestive tract.

Little bubbles of sweat broke to the surface of his face. Pale knuckles clutched at his pants.

The barely-audible swish of the door announces someone coming in. Torso relaxes, thighs tighten. A tiny spot of shame blooms in his chest. He is not alone, and they must smell the two pitifully small wet farts he just forced out.

A long moment passes. He straightens up some on his seat. Something is wrong. There are no footfalls. No shuffling pants legs. No trickle of urine splashes against porcelain. It's still quiet.

The whisper of sliding metal is punctuated by a quiet click. The visitor has locked the bathroom door.

He cocks his head to the side. His bottom lip curls up as his eyebrows press down.

Now he hears the distinctive squeak of sneakers. They appear directly in front of his stall. He leans back to dubiously eye the tennis shoes and jeans.

A knock sounds against the door. His belly clenches. His face goes slack. The sound reaches his mind after a long journey through the ears.

"Hi," the voice says.

"Uh."

"I need your phone."

"Uhh?"

"C'mon. I only need it a sec, gimme your phone man," it pleads.

"What?" He yelps. "What the hell do you think you're--"

[Anonymous No.1137952]

[Anonymous No.1137958]

The bash against the door bursts in the tiny space like a small apocalypse. The door quivers from the blow, and a harsh vibrato hum echoes in the stall. Another slam shakes the frame and side panels. He jerks upright and almost falls into the water beneath him. He wildly swings his arms to catch himself.

"Gimme your phone!"

"Why are you doing this!?"

Again the door leaps inward and the sound shatters the air around him.

"Gimme your fucking phone!"

Whimpering, he reaches into a pocket. Wrong pocket, only his wallet and keys. And another crash. He snatches his cell phone out and flings it under the door. It smacks against the wall and lies untouched.

Fists begin drumming along the wall, moving with the feet to the side of the stall.

He presses his hands to his temples and his face scrunches up. A sob and a scream battle inside his chest to escape and come out together.

"Now your wallet," the voice commands over the fists pounding.

His fist in his mouth, he shakes his head repeatedly. The drumming thrums to a crescendo and ends.

"Your wallet, asshole!"

He can see one foot rise this time and knows the kick is coming. The wall booms, the stall rattles. He tightens into a ball, pressing his torso to his knees.

A long pause. The still calm chews on his nerves. Simmering in his own sweat.

[Anonymous No.1137962]

The knife leaps in and out the stall from the gap in between floor and black panel.

"Jesus christ!" He screams as his legs jig to avoid the blade jabbing at his calves.

"Gimme your fucking wallet! Just gimme your money, you dumbfuck!"

"Noooo!" He cries out as tears cascade down his cheeks. He lifts his legs higher and the weapon follows in manic, random lunges upward. He snatches his pants legs up to his thighs and digs his wallet out of the back pocket. He hurls it at the feet of his assailant. The knife is gone. It's quiet again.

In the gap he sees a hand reach down to grab the leather.

The sneakers disappear the lock clicks back the door swishes open.

He looks down. The rim of the toilet is smeared with feces, and he can feel it glazed across his asscheeks. His hands have shit on them, which he had transferred in the struggle to his pants and their pockets. Weeping, he reaches for the toilet paper.

[Anonymous No.1137971]

Fuck, I messed up the tense in the last paragraph, it's supposed to switch back. Oh well.

[Anonymous No.1138013]

[Anonymous No.1138017]

[Anonymous No.1138034]

Ok, so three people have bumped it with the meme.
I know it's not a fantastic story, but I thought I managed pretty well with it, it's readable. The fact that it's not receiving a shitstorm of hate makes me think it's either forgettable in its mediocrity, as opposed to deserving the effort of ridicule, or the negative assholes of /lit/ don't want to waste time on compliments.

[Anonymous No.1138061]

I like it. It's intense. I'd say it's more than readable, it's very evocative and enjoyable.

[Anonymous No.1138138]

>>1138061
Thanks. Definitely was going for the intense feeling. It occurred to me after a conversation with somebody else who was writing a story about a guy taking a shit and it struck me as kind of a boring way to go about it. I had it written as a very long, drawn out story, with him in a museum, and all this other crap. I tore it apart and re-wrote it to focus on what's actually interesting: the dynamic of a generally accepted safe place because of taboo being violated.

[Anonymous No.1138144]

what is this huge orson welles meme supposed to be about?

[Anonymous No.1138150]

>>1138144
It was just an OP full of fail, really, but one of the things the guy said was, "I'm a huge orson welles."