Running Down Main Street to the Broken Grocery Store

Running Down Main Street to the Broken Grocery Store

I was late for the morning shift at the grocery store, sprinting down the cracked sidewalk that used to be Main Street. The sky was a dull orange, like after a long fire, and the air smelled of ash. When I finally reached the back door, the automatic doors wouldn't open; instead a rusted metal gate slid aside, revealing the store's interior—except the aisles were half‑filled with empty shelves and the ceiling lights hung low, flickering like old neon. My coworker Maya was there, but she wore a patched‑up uniform that looked like a mix of our old school gym shirts. She handed me a scanner that beeped when I tried to scan a barcode, but the screen just showed a countdown. I fumbled for my keys, but they turned into a cracked smartphone that kept showing a map of the city before the blackout. I woke up just as I was about to hand the scanner to the manager, feeling a weird mix of anxiety and relief that I hadn't actually missed my bus.