Hypnotized by the rhythmic pitter-patter of the spitting drops of water as they hit the tiles stained with mildew and God knows what else, Dylan forgot that his body existed. With his petrified hands clamped tightly to his mouth, he stared in silence and absorbed the scene that lay sprawled on the floor of the stall. For three whole minutes of eternity, he was motionless; he could neither breathe nor blink. Even the pounding of his heart had slowed, and the heavy reverb of its kick drum sound drowned out by the screeching shower head above. The steam in the air soaked his skin like a morning dew. He never even noticed the churning in his gut, or the small acidic butterflies that burned inside his throat.
Asphyxiation. His starving lungs gasped desperately for oxygen, letting out the pig squeal of a shallow breathe. When at last he inhaled, he felt the air sift through the cracks between his fingers and softly tickle his skin, just enough to tear him from his daze and alert him to the truth before his eyes.
(To Be Continued)