Write a first-person short story about holding a door open for people that are far away, but make it sound much more tense than it should be. Include some internal dialogue, and make it under 230 words.
Though our eyes locked for only a second, it was long enough for a dozen thoughts to cross my mind. I had nowhere to turn. The figure, though fast approaching, was still too far to be a threat. I had to decide to leave now, or stand my ground. "Run, just run!" said the sane part of my mind, but my feet would not obey. Something about my human nature forced me to stand there and accept my fate. 

My arms were almost as heavy as my conscience, my will to live. "Honey, are you coming with us?" rung my wife's voice, one of reason and concern. I couldn't answer, couldn't do anything besides let the echo of her footsteps fade into the distance. 

My pulse quickens as I notice something that I hadn't before. My god, how many of them were there? The distance quickly closing in...until it suddenly was not. Something else had caught the mob's attention, and their attention turned to something besides my sweaty hands and palpable uncertainty.

 "Now, now is your chance!" said my last ounce of logic. But I have been here so long... I'm ready to face them. I gaze at the floor as my fate approaches, then take one last look into their eyes. 

"Thanks for holding the door open" I hear. "No problem".