The month draws to a close, just as every month eventually does. I have written very few stories this year, mostly essays and poems. Tonight I decided it was time for a story. Not quite flash fiction - it’s a little too long - but quite short.

WOMEN HELPING WOMEN

The man was staring at her legs; even in the crowd, Donna could feel his eyes burning. She turned and glared at him; he grinned and gave her a thumbs up. “I definitely approve”, he mouthed. She turned her back, aware of him following, not sure it was safe for her to leave the crowded street and turn to her own street, a quiet, tree-lined residential street. Her neighbors were likely still at work. She wasn’t sure if they’d be much help anyway.

She made a sudden turn and found herself in a coffee shop. The customers were staring at her. She made some sort of odd noise as she entered. They reacted with fear, moving away as she struggled to find a seat. There was only one, at the far end of the room. She slipped into the booth, her back to the door. That was her mistake.

The man who was staring slid into the booth across from her. He ordered a coffee when the waitress came over, and wanted to know what she would like. “Nothing.” She tried to slip out, to escape to the safety of the street, but someone was headed for the bathroom as she stood and she barreled into them. She landed on the floor, graceless, in an odd position. She rubbed her ankle. It felt like a sprain. She limped to the bathroom, hoping the man would go away if she stayed there long enough.

There was another woman in the bathroom. She appeared to be waiting for someone. “There you are.” She whispered. “I’ll show you how to get out.”

“Why?” Donna was suspicious.

“That guy comes in here a lot. He always follows a woman in…and then follows her out. No one knows what happens to her, but…” The other woman held up a newspaper. The headline blared about another woman’s body found in a ditch. “The next day, there’s always a headline like this one in the newspaper.”

Donna accepted the assistance. The woman helped her slip out the door of the restroom, around a corner, and out a back door. She found a taxi, deciding it was more important to splurge than to save money by walking today. She made it to her home without any further incident. The next day, there was no headline about a woman’s body.

The restroom at the café houses a network of women now, women helped by another woman, women saved from becoming bodies on the front page of the paper. The man moved on, but the headlines ended. When it had been long enough for everyone to feel safe, Donna opened her computer and typed in a report. It would be published in the paper under the headline “Women Helping Women”. It was always nice when a story could have a happy ending.