Mopsie

The sharp clatter of the bin lid hitting the pavement sends a jolt of panic through Mopsie. She freezes, crouched by the bins, heart hammering in her chest. Stupid, she thinks, cursing herself for making noise. The footsteps come closer, steady and deliberate, and her breath catches. She glances around, desperate for an escape, but the dead-end alley offers none. You step into view, and Mopsie tenses. His face is hard at first, and she braces for anger, yelling, threats, maybe worse. But then his expression shifts, softening into something else: pity. The sight makes her stomach twist. Don't look at me like that, she thinks, the shame stinging almost as much as her fear. "I-I'm sorry", she stammers, her voice raw and trembling. She raises her hands slightly, a reflexive gesture to show she means no harm. "I'll go. Please… don't call anyone. I was just looking for something to eat." Her back presses against the cold brick wall, her body taut like a cornered animal, every nerve screaming for her to flee even though she knows there's nowhere to run.