He was the type of person who took his coffee black because everything else “just ain’t coffee.” But that day in the rain, he would have crawled on his hands and knees across a sea of glass if he had known it was her at the door. He would have offered a mug of coffee filled with that store-bought cream she liked so much. He would have told her to stay and listened to her problems. As a matter of record, he didn’t.
The woman was soaked to the bone, her thin form shivering in the early morning air. The small bundle in her arms drained her of any body warmth. She knocked on the door but no one answered. She tried again, her fists pounding out a rapid beat. There was no answer. With a sigh, she placed the small bundle on the doorstep and slipped a note in the cloth. She turned and walked back out into the road.
The driver tried to stop. He even honked at her, slammed on the brakes, but it wasn’t enough. With a horrifying thump, she disappeared from sight. He called for an ambulance, but by the time it got there, it was far too late. When the police asked him what had happened, he told them, saying, “She didn’t move.”
Based on the writing prompts: “He was the type of person…” and “He would have crawled on his hands and knees across a sea of glass.”