a response to this prompt. It’s not quite your first day, but she makes it feel like it is. Everywhere you go in the tiny, crowded kitchen you can feel her eyes on you, the heat radiating from her bulk as she slides in next to you (or behind you, with the weight of her arms reaching around your too-slender body) to correct some perceived flaw in what you know is exactly what you were told to do just a few days before. ...
It takes more hits to break the glass than you expected, but you always were weak, and it doesn’t help that you’re so worried about overcommitting and tearing your arm open. When it finally breaks you knock the fragments out of the frame before reaching in to unlock the door. It’s weird being here at night, when the store is quiet and dark; the soft glow of an exit sign pulses above you, reflecting off the countless shelves which line the space. The jars and vials which fill them almost to bursting shimmer like prisms in the light. ...