One hand supported the base, the second hand clenched around the first, both extended in front of her body. Between the rapidly increasing beats pulsing through her ears, she noticed mauve paint chipping off her thumbnail. The veins in her wrists curved like tiny waves leading to ten shaking fingers. No, get a grip! she mentally yelled to herself. Shaking only highlights weakness.
Long black tendrils of hair whipped around her head and neck - just another distraction from the finish line. They were wet and when they weren't flying in different directions, they were plastering themselves across her forehead and cheeks.
Two rather expensive designer boots supported her petite frame against the billowing winds of New York City. Rain glided down the sides to the toes, making small puddles in the creases of the four hundred dollar leather. The matching trenchcoat whipped about her legs, creating flapping sounds, barely audible in the storm. Damn mother nature, she thinks. Always in the way.
Her hands were slipping in the icy rain. A set look of determination was spread upon her face with a touch of fury and a pinch of revenge. She felt her teeth grind together, biting her lip in the process.
Her eyes focused on the prize. The only barrier between the woman and her success was a sheet of glass labeled with the neighborhood bank logo. She was so close to both outcomes. She could walk away and live a stable life of sainthood. She could also do it for her family, her friends, heck, even her mutt. She could do it all for herself.
Choose now or forever hold your peace.
Choosing... choosing...
Fortunately, her target heard the crash of booming thunder instead of her thumb cocking the gun.
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