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Weekly Contest #370
The subway doors slammed shut just as Mason reached the platform, his sneakers screeching against the polished tile while the wind from the departing train whipped through his dark hair. The metallic bite of hot brake dust hung heavy in the air, aggressively fouling the bitter scent of someone's discarded burnt coffee. Above him, a digital clock glowed a mocking, blood-red against the damp concrete wall. 8:11 A.M. Mason stared at it, his chest heaving. “You have got to be kidding me.” Tessa came barreling down the stairs, her backpack ac...
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