By Sarah Johnson
October 1, 2019
Someone is trying to murder me. I just have to figure out who. Fit & Well class no longer matters-- not that I was too worried about that before I had a hit-man after me. I scan the class, making eye contact with a select few. One in particular had snuck glances at me multiple times throughout class. That must be him. Panic pervades me. How will I escape? He has me trapped in this sweat-scented hole of a classroom. Could I try to outrun him? No, no; if this class has taught me anything, it’s that exercise is far worse than death. Maybe I could outsmart him. I run through possibilities in my mind. What do I have that he doesn’t have? Suddenly, it hits me; I know how I’ll escape-- by using my femininity. I’ll hide in the bathroom where my male hit-man cannot enter.
I check my phone for the time: 11:48, almost to the close of my 11:00 class. Adrenaline fills my veins, and I start packing my things, all the while keeping one eye on my hit-man. He hasn’t even started putting away his notebook yet. I chuckle; what an amateur.
I finally hear those long-awaited words: “You are dismissed.” I take off like a rocket. Ain’t no man gonna take me down. I make a beeline for the bathroom. I look behind me several times, never once seeing that familiar face. I stop cold. If he really wanted this, he’d be on my tail. Realization comes over me: he’s trying to trick me into a false sense of security. He’ll wait for me outside of the bathroom and shoot me when I come out. Well, I can’t let him do that, now can I? I change my course to go outside, hoping to make it to Mellers before he attacks. I scurry up the sidewalk, trying to blend in until we reach the building.
Reaching the building, I breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t follow me. I’m safe. I join the line for whatever is being served at Meller’s feeling pretty proud of myself. “Hi, Sarah,” registers in my ears, and I look around trying to decide if the greeting was aimed at me or one of the other 37 Sarahs on campus. The person was already lost in the crowd. I brush it off, get my gyro, and head back to my seat to my friends. The conversation consists mostly of the hit-men roaming campus, and we all get up to leave. I checked my back to make sure Fit & Well guy wasn’t following and was satisfied to see he wasn’t. My friends scattered to go to class, and suddenly I was alone walking the long hallway to the union. I check behind me a few times, and only see one non-threatening guy walking behind me.
Feeling pretty good, I leave the building. I got a few steps and turned to check behind me. The non-threatening guy was still there, but no one else. I turn back around and out of the corner of my eye, I see him charging across the forum with his gun trained on me. “Gotcha!” I hear from his mouth, in the same voice that I heard greet me at Mellers. Oh no. I began sprinting toward my dorm. Fear fills my chest. I see my life flash before my eyes: all the fun times with friends and family, birthdays, holidays, that time I got an extra strip at Chick-Fil-A. I don’t want to die; I have so much more to do. I run harder, but I soon feel that dreaded coolness on the back of my leg. I collapse, dead. I’ve been eliminated, and on the first day, too. I stood in that insane line for twelve years for nothing. I make a covenant with myself, right there, lying on the ground, that next year, Spy Week would end differently.
The opinions expressed are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Infuse Student Media or Southwest Baptist University.
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