Genre: Realistic Fiction
After running for over a mile, Meghan reached the store.
A flipped-around sign marked Closed. Glass. Ten tile-covered feet.
It might as well have been a mile, might as well have been concrete and mortar.
Brick. Mortar. That gives her an idea.
Glass shatters. In she walks. In a display case near the door, she finds what she needs.
Bills and a hastily scrawled apology lay discarded on a bare counter. The sign in the unbroken window still reads Closed.
I actually wrote several different versions of this story in my head, with different things being what she’d gone to grab (some the object of an addiction, others a genuine emergency). I decided it would be better to leave it with some ambiguity.
What do you think?