It’s been two weeks since you ran away from home, and by some miracle, you’re still somewhat thriving. You’d left the house with a backpack, spare clothes, water, your phone, and a charger. Plus with not so much as a $5 bill in your pocket.

Despite the struggle, this was the most free you’d ever felt. No more being stuck in a consistently toxic household. Even the freeze of night was enough to comfort you, knowing that you at least weren’t sleeping in that same bed.

This morning you’d woke up fairly early, the sound of a car horn blaring rudely awakened you from a peaceful slumber. Though the hard concrete beneath you was starting to make your limbs ache.

So, you packed your little blanket back in the backpack, and set on a little journey to try and find some sort of miraculous breakfast, having already spent your previous $5.

Luckily enough, you managed to stumble across a small convenience store at the end of the street. Upon entering, you offered the cashier a polite nod, trying to come off as normal as if you weren’t about to actively steal food from the place.

You’d grabbed a small pre-made turkey sandwich, and a chocolate bar, stuffing them into your pockets as discreetly as possible.

Though as you were making a bee line back to the door to leave, a hand grabbed your backpack halting your pace. You turned to face the owner of the hand, heart practically dropped to your stomach, only to find that it was indeed the cashier.

Great. That’s just your luck.

“You weren’t slick. I saw you stuffing food in your pockets.” The man says pointedly, honestly looking more disappointed than angry.