Short Stories

Titanium's Sandwich Shop

haaii, hope you all enjoy thiss, twas inspired by David Guetta and Sia's motivating song, Titanium :3

Titanium’s Sandwich Shop

My eyes widened as I realized how late it was that Friday afternoon. Crap, crap, crap, I sang in my head. Uncle Sarge is gonna kill me.

“Melissa, I’ll be back later this weekend to take a look at the rest of the dresses,” I called to the amiable sale associate as I gathered up my belongings and stuffed them in my bag.

She poked her head out of the back storeroom, three different colored Louis Vuitton dresses strewn across her slender frame, her hair a bit askew from all of the rummaging in the back. “Alright, hun, I’ll see you soon! I’ll set these aside for you until you come back again!"

With a quick and apologetic ‘thanks,’ I burst out of the designer store into the dying rays of the winter sun, and–

Into someone else.

Upon impact, packages flew, and although I was able to catch myself after colliding with the stranger, I still stumbled back a few steps, my eyes widening in embarrassment when I saw UPS boxes strewn all over the sidewalk. I scrambled onto my hands and knees to assist the poor UPS deliveryman in picking up the deliveries I had disturbed.

“I’m so sorry, sir, I can be such a klutz sometimes,” I said hastily, my azure eyes meeting his stunningly green ones.

“It’s no problem, really,” his gruff voice stumbled a bit, surprised that a woman that had just exited a Louis Vuitton store was actually on the ground, helping him pick up his things off the pavement.

As I finished handing him the last box, I dusted myself off before running down the street. “Sorry, again. Have a nice day, mister!” I shouted behind me, waving to the green-eyed man.

I jogged to my car, threw it into drive and sped off to Lasser’s Gym and Fitness Center. Snatching an oversized duffle bag from the passenger seat, I leapt out of my Honda and walked briskly to the locker rooms. Looking left, then right, and left once more, I slipped into the locker room. Knowing I was short on time, I set to work as swiftly as I possibly could, which– may I say– was pretty damn fast.

First off, I shed my cardigan and dress, neatly folding it into a hidden compartment in the duffle. Next, I wrapped a cloth bandage around my chest, flattening my bust as best as I could without suffocating myself. Once I was as flat chested as a seven-year-old, I slipped on loose sweat pants and sweatshirt, my slight figure and lithe limbs drowning in the fabric. Lastly, I pulled my hair into a low bun that my hoodie covered and slipped on my gray mask. Staring into the mirror, I no longer resembled a woman who enjoys her weekly book clubs and treats herself to shopping sprees every few weeks. In her place was a warrior, a soldier, a fighter: fierce, intimidating and, most importantly, faceless.

Making sure no evidence of my being a woman remained in plain sight, I set off for the 3rd storage room on the left in hallway 7b. Producing a small brass key from my pocket, I unlocked the door like I had a million times before and slipped into the darkness. 3 steps forward, 8 right, 5 backward. I dropped to my knees and felt for the puny quarter-sized bump in the carpeting, pressing it and holding it for 8 seconds. I watched in awe as the floor in front of me melted into stairs leading down, into the hidden depths of under the gym.

Padding down the stone steps, my footsteps barely making a sound, I burst soundlessly into the room where everyone had already gathered. I counted each of the different colored masks that identified each member of the Sandwich Shop, realizing that only the navy mask– I think he went by Hermes– and I had been absent. I slipped into a gathering crowd of loud men and pretended I had been there the entire time.