The Package

The Sweater

I've always been fond of running. The near-end-of-the-world situation has given me an excuse to continue with it, even though I won't win any more medals.
Just as I near the light, the sole of my right Converse flops off, separating from the rest of the shoe.
"Shit," I mutter beneath my breath.
I walk over to the sidewalk, and sit down. It surprises me that I still am safe on the roads. There are hardly any working vehicles. Even so, I stay on the sidewalk, crouching down in front of the massive Forever 21 that I once shopped at.
My fingers reach down for the laces, and I untie them. Wrapping them back around the base of my shoe, I retie them, hoping the laces will help keep the shoe intact, at least allowing me to run.
I stand up again, being sure to grab the package. It takes me a minute to realize, but I'm standing in front of a store that is full of clothes and shoes, and I haven't stepped inside in four years.
It's worth a shot.
My feet carry me inside the store, and I'm on the hunt for new shoes. I might even pick up some new clothes to surprise Amanda with once I find her.
If I find her.
I make my way up the escalator that no longer works. The sole of my shoe still flops, though not as much, hitting each step as I continue. I reach the top floor, and realize how dark it really is without any lights.
So I pull out the package.
It illuminates the entire room, as the wisp is about to disappear from weakness. I hope that it stays bright enough for me to find what I need. Without it, I'll probably loose everything.
I finally spot some sneakers in the back corner of the store. I'm able to make out the green and blue coloring of the shoe, although it's hard. Years of collecting dust will do that to a sneaker, apparently.
I grab the pair and shove them onto my aching feet. They are a bit stiff, but I'll survive. I cross the floor again and head down the escalator, browsing the shelves and almost-empty racks as I pass, but I don't have any luck for a while.
As I am ready to step outside again, I see a sweater that I vaguely remember Amanda liking.
"Willow, it is gorgeous!" 10-year-old Amanda had said, "You look fantastic in it. The green stripes really compliment the green in your eyes."
So I grab one for her, and I'm off again.
Once I step outside, the wind picks up a bit. I stretch the sweater over my head, wearing it for a while, Amanda wouldn't mind.
My long, strawberry-blond hair collides with my face, and I pull it back, securing it with one of the old laces from my Converse.
I look towards where I saw the light before, although I can't see it very well now, as the sun is fully awake, shining powerfully.
Even still, I head towards where I saw it.