“Porta Potty”

I was afraid of the porta potties, so I held my bowels as long as I could. On the third day, it was either go to the porta potty or release my bowels in my jeans. As they were the only pair of jeans I had, I chose the former.

I picked the one farthest from the others and went in. It was as disgusting as expected. I locked the door, wiped the seat, pulled down my pants, and sat down. I tested the flushing mechanism before starting my business, and an intense suction sealed me to the seat. I panicked. I tried to stand and couldn’t. I tried the mechanism again—maybe the second time would release me. It just sealed me tighter. I tried to scream for help but the mechanism must have vacuumed out all of the air. I could feel myself slowly being sucked into the toilet. This couldn’t be happening. But it was. I held onto the door handle and tried to pull myself out. The more I struggled, the deeper I slid into the toilet. I stopped struggling and it pulled me in faster. I was going all the way in, to wherever the shit went. This was not the way I wanted to start my day. I managed to grab onto my toilet seat in one final attempt to free myself. The smell enveloped me and my fingers slipped as I passed out and fell into the abyss.

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