The Writing of Ken Varnold

The Clothing Department

The Clothing Department His legs were cramping. The sliding door was pressed against his elbow. When he looked out the little finger hole there was nothing to see except the next clothing bin over, just a few feet away. How long had it been? An hour?  He had lost track.  It was too dark to see his watch, and the position of his arms kept him from grabbing his phone. He had jumped into this bin so fast he didn’t have time to take it out. It had been quiet out there for a good fifteen minutes. It’s still on. It’s now or never. His pulse quickened and he started breathing heavier. Take it easy. Move slowly, no sound. Control your breath. He slowly pulled his arm across his stomach, supporting some of his weight on his face. Straightening his arm, he slid it out to his side then, bending at the elbow, very slowly, gripped the cell phone and pulled it out of the holster. He eased it back over his stomach, inching it as quietly as possible nearer his face. He opened it. The battery looked just over half full. He quickly turned down the volume of the ringer. Better yet. Turn it to vibrate. No, not even vibrate. He didn’t know how well they could hear. Can’t be too careful. Not after what I saw. His mind rolled on. How could this happen? There must have been a dozen, maybe more. He had never seen chimpanzees outside of a cage. How the hell did they get here? Where did they come from? Jeezus, the poor guy...
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