Melanie was walking home from work. It was winter, so it was darker earlier and there was a chill in the air. She stopped for a moment to pull a packet of cigarettes out of her handbag. She casually lit the cigarette and carried on walking. The street was empty and there was a low fog, added to by her cigarette smoke. All she could hear was the “click, click, click” of her high heels on the pavement. After about a minute later her footsteps were accompanied by another set of footsteps. They were coming from behind her. Melanie looked back. Even in the low visibility she could make out the silhouette of a person roughly about six feet tall, dressed in a hoodie. She noticed something in his hand, she couldn’t make out what, but something held tightly in his fist. His pace quickened, closing in on her.
“Shit,” Melanie thought as she quickened her pace, the stranger still closing in on her. Options ran through her mind. Could she run? No, not in these heels, and taking them off would close the gap between her and the man. “I’ll have to fight,” thought Melanie. Luckily, as part of her New Year’s resolution, Melanie had taken Kickboxercising lessons, so she knew how to handle herself. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, Melanie raised her lower leg and thrust it outwards. The bloke screamed in pain as her five inch heel ruptured his left testicle. Melanie spun round to face her attacker, grabbing his head and forcing her thumbs into his eyes. Finally she pulled his head down and thrust her knee into his face, knocking him unconscious. As he fell to the ground, the man dropped something. It was the object Melanie had noticed him keeping a tight grip on. She bent down and picked it up. It was a purse. Her purse.
The one that fell out of her handbag when she took out her cigarettes.