The Doormen

There she is again, in the mirror. Why do they cry so? For days it had been thus: yelling, approaching footfalls, the slam and click of a locking door, then tears and terror.

It has been generations since he’s cared, but something about her. He is resolved to have her.

Despairing, she runs a bath, breaks apart her safety razor and, not bothering to undress, steps into the tub. As she turns to sit, she sees his distorted face through the steam and mirror glass, a hand extended.

“Anyplace but here,” she says as she takes his hand and disappears.