Fiction Writing

A story beginning sparked by the news:

She hurried down the empty street. There was no one about, no window shoppers, no joggers, no people carrying coffee, no businessmen hurrying to their next meeting, no mothers with screaming toddlers, no one jabbering into invisible phones, no one. It was so eerie, so uncomfortable. The mask was hot, she felt as though she could not breathe. But what if someone suddenly popped out of a doorway? The mask would save her, would it not? She was so frightened of this virus. Not that test. Never. It was said to be so painful, an assault of sorts. There had been too many of those recently. Her heart pounded, her stomach gnawed at her, her head swirled. She had to get home. The world seemed to be crumbling around her. The corner shop had not had eggs or cheese, no tins of beans. How could she survive on the box of crackers that was left?

Finally, there was the ugly block of flats. Inside the stairwell was so dark, the smell of curry was overwhelming. Her legs were wobbly, but the virus might be on the railing, so hanging on was not an option. Second floor, third floor, her lungs were gasping for air. Ah, the dingy blue door and the Mind the Gap door mat. By now she was shaking so much that the key would not slide into the lock. Fumbling impatiently, she tried again, but the lock refused to yield. All of the sudden the door flew open and she fell into the tight hallway of her dreary flat. Blackness enveloped her as she kicked the door closed. Safe. Breathe, just breathe.

Edited yet again:

She hurried down the empty street, wild hair, unmatched clothes, no makeup. After weeks at home alone who was going to judge her? There was no one about, no window shoppers, no joggers, no people carrying coffee, no businessmen hurrying to their next meeting, no mothers with screaming toddlers, no one jabbering into invisible phones, no one. It was so eerie, so stark, so uncomfortable. The mask was hot, she felt as though she could not breathe. But what if someone suddenly popped out of a doorway? The mask would save her, would it not? She was so frightened of this virus. Highly at risk, would she survive? Who would care if she did not?

Coughing enveloped her. Was this it? That noxious swarm invading her body that was almost paralyzing? Was it the asthma or the virus? No, not that test! It was said to be so painful, an assault of sorts. There had been too many of those recently. Her heart pounded, her stomach gnawed at her, her head swirled. She had to get home. The world seemed to be crumbling around her. The corner shop had not had eggs or cheese, no tins of beans. How could she survive on the Jacobs Cream Crackers that were left?

Finally, there was the ugly block of flats. Inside, the stairwell was so dark, the smell of curry was overwhelming. Her legs were wobbly, but the virus might be on the railing. Second floor, third floor, her lungs were gasping for air, the coughing interminable. Ah, the dingy blue door and the fading Mind the Gap door mat. By now she was shaking so much that the key would not slide into the lock. Fumbling impatiently, she tried again, but the lock refused to yield. All of the sudden the door flew open and she fell into the tight hallway of her dreary flat. Blackness enveloped her as she kicked the door closed. Safe. Breathe, just breathe.