text: Water first beaded, and then ran in trembling rivulets down the corrugated surface of the bulging panels. Josiah took a step back. The walls looked like puss filled blisters, and they were now spewing, creaking, splitting softly at the apex. All he could manage was the single step back; sultry terror radiated through his neck and shoulders. All at once, the blister on the north wall (for he now knew that is what it was) burst with damp "BLEP" and spilled its contents on the floor. It was yellow now, and it WAS puss; thick and sticky sweet. It pooled like warm banana custard at his petrified feet and he could feel (sense) it sucking, lapping, making wet love to the soles of his sneakers. "O-oh fucking CHRIST!" He whisper-screamed through clenched teeth; his lips pulled back; stretched white in a grotesque parody of a grin. There was nothing in his mind now except the afore mentioned maddening terror; not life, not the fact that he was in a shit-hole-in-the-wall gas station restroom, not his wife and daughter, patiently awaiting his return in the small SUV outside. The fucking warmth, no HEAT coming from the sickly stuff gluing him to the floor was now at an unbearable depth of feel. It had reached his ankles now and began to swell over the sides of his shoes and into his socks. He could feel it flowing like viscous oil between his toes. "FuckfuckfuckingfuckfuCKFUCKFUCKFAKCKAUFUCK!" He had begun to scream. It was all he could do. Not a man's scream but that of a child being held down on the examination table for his first round of shots. He screamed with a primal terror that he had yet to experience in his entire life. It was NEW and fresh and crystal clear. It rattled like panes of shattering glass in his throat and oh god now it was blood. Blood was following the puss from the ragged and sagging holes in the wall. It was not blood all at once however; the blood mingled with the tallow puss and they mixed like strawberry milk. Strands of darker yellow danced lazily around in this pink nightmare; aberrant streaks of blackish red tangled with these and he saw that they were clots, and he still screamed. As it poured into his wide mouth, passed over his ridged tongue and "Glup-glup-glupped" down his spasming neck, he reached, in his terror, a sudden clarity. "I am dying. Dying early. One way or another." He now willing swallowed the ghastly liquid and awaited darkness with stoic resignation. . . . Clare fussed in her car seat. Vanessa hushed her gently, lovingly. "Daddy is coming honey. Hoooshhhh now baby, daddy is just in the bathroom. Ooh and he bringing snackies for mommy and his favorite little girl!" She smiled as the little girl sucked in her tears and bit her lip in the "Iwanna" pout. Her little one quieted with momentary patience, she swiveled in her seat and peered into the nicotine stained windows of the citgo. Her husband's cancer was only newly diagnosed, but it was bad. They had decided to forgo treatment (fat lot of good it would have done) and had instead decided on a big family vacation. (Spend some time before they couldnt) One last "Big blowout" "Damn the savings! Let's go to the beach!" They had given him 6 months. What kind of a fucking life sentence that was. "Six months to life, 4 on good behavior and not a second less!" It pained him greatly at times and they had made a few bathroom breaks since they left the house this morning. Six hours from home, ten gas station bathrooms later and here they sat. Vanessa crossed her legs and bounced a little against the leather passenger seat. She felt bad to rush him but wished he would hurry. She needed to use the bathroom somthing awful.