Broken Windows

A short story I wrote based on a prompt

I crawled in through the window.
There was just enough space to squeeze through.
Broken desks lay about in disarray, a dusty chalkboard framing the front of the room.
I lay still for a long time, waiting until the shadows passed by the boarded window frames, and the sounds outside died down.
As I peered into the shadowy hallway, I nearly tripped on a spilled packet of crayons.
The red one crunched beneath my shoe.
I crept as carefully as I could, crossing the hall, closing the door gently as I locked myself in an old closet.
I reached into my backpack, wolfing down the dried jerky and slim jims that I had pulled out of the gas station.
I took a deep breath, and then another.
In and out.
In and out.
I looked down.
There was a trail of russet feathers, leading to a tiny finch.
It lay still, eyes squeezed shut and legs drawn in.
I just stared for a little while.
“Sorry.” I whispered.
It felt appropriate.