Full Circle

The truck doesn’t stop; the muddy puddle water doesn’t either.

A wave, cold and relentless, crashes over my shopping cart, soaking everything inside—my blankets, my clothes, my food. The red pickup barrels through the puddle, vanishing down the street without hesitation. A faint laugh drifts from the open window, swallowed by the rain.

“Hey! That’s my stuff!” I yell, but my voice barely cuts through the storm.

The cold bites deep into my fingers as I clutch the cart’s handle. Rain slashes sideways, plastering my hair to my face and soaking through my sweater. I take a step forward, but my pants sag, the waistband too loose, and I stumble.

The pavement slams into my knees, sharp and unforgiving. My hands scrape raw against the concrete, and my face hits last. Pain explodes in my jaw, white-hot and searing. A crack echoes in my head—my tooth, I think.