It wasn't really stealing. Not really. That's what she kept telling herself as she pounded the pavement, her shoes thudding as she picked up the pace. It's a big store, no one will miss it, they'll just refill the shelves and never notice that ti's gone. She needed it more than the rich person who was going to come in for it would. Dodging puddles, she didn't even notice that it had stopped raining and it had turned to soft white fluffy flakes of snow.
She was almost home when she slipped on the ice that had formed outside her doorway. But the item was safe, and she gingerly sat up, her pants ripped at the knee, blood welling to the surface, but barely bubbling out of the scratch she'd achieved. Grumbling, she slowly got off the ground, trying to avoid touching the knee to any surface as she did. Hobbling up the stairs, she dug her keys out of the bag, digging past the papers, all the coupons for various items, for the random business cards, her phone, and felt around for the thing. It was in one of those useless compartments of the bag, those things that collect the dust and candy wrappers and coins.
Unlocking the door, she took a quick look round and then headed up the stairs, limping ever so slightly as she did. When she finally did get inside to take a look at it, she noticed it wasn't that deep, but she very carefully removed the gravel and dirt from it. Luckily, there was still some bacitracin from the last literal scrape she had gotten herself into, and she added that to the cut. The more pressing problem was the pants, as that was her last pair that was in any kind of shape. She thought of going back and perhaps stealing a pair, but that was entirely laughable. She wasn't a thief. Most of the time. Just the one thing.
This is my first in a series of quick writings in an attempt to get back into my writing hobby. Opinions, thoughts welcome, of course!