The lockers slam shut as the gym begins to close down.  It's late and a tall, muscular man in athletic shorts checks his watch one last time, noting that the building will soon shut down.  He takes a clean shirt from his bag, slams his own locker, and heads to the showers.  Only a few men are left there, cleaning up their things, and toweling themselves off.  He can hear one taking a shower.  The man walks into an empty shower, dumping his bag outside the curtainhe turns on the water, and slips out of his shorts, throwing them outside the shower before they get wet.he reaches for the green bar of soapin the shower wall, and discovers strands of curly, black hair clinging to it.  He picks them off in disgust, making sure to rinse the bar before using it.  He rubs the soap all over his body, and rinses off the mixture of soap and sweat.  He tilts his head back, under the shower head, letting the warm water cascade over his face.  He hears the other men leave, the door making a deep, heavy scrape as it falls back into the frame.  He had better hurry if he wants to get home before the lights go out.  He turns the water up a little higher until it is an almost unbearable, steaming heat, and shakes himself, shivering from the almost boiling heat of the water.  The shower head cuts off as the curtain glides back, and the man gropes for a towel in a nearby cart.  The towel is wet, and he thinks that he has reached into the wrong cart.  He throws it back and shakes himself.  Guess he'll have to go home wet.  It's late, and he'll be able to have a nice, cool shower in the morning before work.  He bends over, reaching for his shorts when he discovers his hand is covered in blood.  He stares at it, confused, and quickly turns the showerhead on to rinse it off.  He shakes his hand out, and wipes it on his shorts as he pulls them on.  He picks up his blue shirt, and slips his arms through, before pulling it over his head.  He reaches for his gym bag, daring himself to look at the cart of towels beside the shower.  The beige colored cart has been heavily stained in blood, and a scratched up arm is hanging over the side.  A small puddle of blood has pooled beaneath the cart, its glassy surface broken momentarily as a small drop falls every now and then. There is a shower beside the cart, and it is still running, the steam now beginning to fog the room. The white curtain seems less translucent than it should be, and he can see something dark dripping down on the other side. He approaches it slowly, and is about to pull back the curtain when-DA-DUN,DA-DUN...DA-DUN, DA-DUN-his phone rings. He jumps, and fubles for it as the shrill, monotonous ring-tone continues to drone. He should really think about changing that one. "Umm, yeah?" "Honey, where are you? It's-are you taking a shower?" "What? No, I'm on my way home, now. You might wan't to keep dinner on the stove." He hears an exasperated sigh as his wife rolls her eyes. He knows she is. "Oh, you. Fine, but you had better be here before the movie starts. It's a good one. My girlfriend has been babbling about it for two weeks." The man hears a knock at the door. "Yeah, sure Hon. I'll be home soon." He pauses for a moment. Maybe he could hear "Love's a Bitch" every time she called. "Well, okay. That sports car of yours had better be pushing double horse, though." "All, right, I'll see ya there." "Bye, Hon." "Bye." He snaps the phone shut, and puts it back into his shorts, still staring at the shower. He reaches for the curtain again, and grabs the edge of the thin plastic. He snaps it back, and there, hanging by a noose from the shower head is a bloody head half-ripped apart, the muscle and hair hanging from it like bloody tassels. The bottom of the jaw could be seen, the white, stained bone dripping. The drain on the bottom of the shower is stopped up, and the blood and water is beginning to overflow, spinning random patterns on the grout between the tiles. There is blood dripping like a waterfall behind the torn head, and the eyes are pulled out, hanging by their muscular threads from the bloody sockets. The man stumbles back as another knock comes from the door. He trips on a corner of the cart, and grabs a towel as he falls to the floor, and mass of the towels tumbles down on him as he scrambles up, snatching up his gym bag as another knock comes at the door. He stands up, nearly slipping, and spots the torn, bloody, and beheaded body in the cart. "My God!" The towels near the bottom are soaked in blood, and the ones he happened to pull out had only been flecked or dried. He's lucky he hadn't pulled out one of the soaked towels. The door to the bathroom scrapes open, and he runs out, a sharp pain suddenly searing his stomch as something cold slices through his abdominals. He falls to the floor, coughing and rolling around, moaning with agony. He looks up and spots the man with the knife. He tries to stand up, and nearly faints from the pain. He tries again, clutching his stomach, his knees wobbling, and runs, hunched over, but the man comes up from behind and pushes him to the floor, embedding the knife in his neck. Time to replace what's left, behind the shower curtain.