Raindrops pattered against old tin as Abigail stared out her window, watching grey smoke billow over grey rooftops. An old radio crackled: cheerful propaganda interspersed with gossip and advertisements. They never mentioned the choking smog or the water that ran brown and tasted like old pennies.
Boots thundered against tin and a hooded figure clattered down in front of the window. Abigail’s eyes widened. Crouched before her, hair blowing in the wind, pistol in hand, was the Outlaw herself, the princess of thieves.
She turned, winked at Abigail, then leapt out of sight, swallowed by rain and mist.
Word Count: 98
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and J Hardy Carroll for providing the prompt photo!