ZEDS: Urinal Etiquette 

By AngusEcrivain

        It was raining hard, positively siling down, as if every single drop of water in the sky was falling at once, as Phil ran for cover. In one hand he held a fire axe, and although he gripped it as tightly as he could he found he had to readjust his grip more often than he would've liked, lest he drop the weapon to the sodden, muddy, ground.

With his other hand he held the strap of his rucksack away from his neck. That had not been necessary, of course, until he had erroneously attempted to force his way between two trees that had been a little closer together than he had expected, and he had not had chance or opportunity to reposition the strap since.

His lungs ached, and his heart beat hard and fast in his chest. He knew he needed to stop running for at least a few moments and catch his breath.

And then he saw it, appearing in the trees and rain and dark as if by magic. A brick building, perhaps a tourist information centre, or the local National Trust Visitor Centre... It really made little difference to Phil what it was because above all else, it was shelter.

Phil made it to the building, a public toilet block if the smell was anything to go by, and flung himself against the wall. He could still hear the horde of zombies as they chased him down through the forest, even over the noise of the still-ridiculously heavy rain. They were not quick. Quite the opposite, in fact, but they were determined. Once they had your scent, it was like trying to shake a pack of hungry bloodhounds.

Using the exterior wall as a guide he quickly made his way around the building until he found a way inside. The heavy wooden door was relatively intact, if a little rotten towards the bottom around the baseplate. Phil did not have much time to consider that though, and as quietly as he could he closed the door behind him.

He fumbled with the bolt, struggling to fire it across after what was likely at least five years since its last use. Eventually he managed to do so, all the while trying not to think about the pungent, rank smell, of stale sewage.

Phil dropped to the dirty, tiled floor, finally able to remove his rucksack as he sat there in the darkness with his back against the door, and drifted off into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep listening to the zombies outside as slowly but surely, the creatures passed him by.

He awoke a short while later to find beads of sunlight attempting to force its way through a high window that at best was mouldy, and at worst something he did not really want to consider.

Getting to his feet he stretched his tired, aching body, and staggered towards the urinals that he might relieve himself.

Still half asleep, he failed to notice the faded graffiti scrawled onto the wall above the centre urinal. It read, 'If you're reading this, don't. Pay attention to what you're doing, and never forget about urinal etiquette!'