There were two of them when she walked in. Teachers never went in those toilets normally. The doors to each stall, like using a hand towel to get changed on the beach. And they stank. But it was before school and she had no choice. It was awkward to position herself in the cubicle and balance on the Lilliputian throne. Looking down and touching in disbelief; knowing immediately what it meant. From that point, the experience becomes a before and after. The after is a memory of senses with no accompanying thought. Her dress had a blue bird print. The toilet paper in her underwear was balled up like a mistake. Her face was wet before she doused it with water. Her abdomen clenched like a fist. In the basin where yesterday there would have been paint flecks and PVA, there was blood. She left, almost certain she was alone.
From: Ad Hoc Fiction