Manic Monday

Once upon a time there was an almost-book titled: You Little Thief.

This is as far as I got. 

Happy Manic Monday.

*as always, not edited*

Her eyes fluttered back and forth surveying the perimeters of the tiny jewelry store with the cottage-like feel.  It would be so easy—they’d made it too damned easy.  Yes, it was a relatively small city and the people were mostly honest—but for those who had the slightest sticky fingers—it was a cake walk. 

She broke down the place in pieces.  The most blatant offense was the cashier behind the register.  She was sixteen, maybe seventeen, macerating her gum and clicking furiously on her pink sequin adorned iPhone like it was paying her salary instead of the proprietor.  She could care less about anything going on around her.  She was oblivious. 

The second foul were the three exits—three damned exits.  Five seconds would be all it took to claim there was a hurt kid or a screaming woman outside.  The pubescent cashier would be out the door to witness the drama and the merchandise could be in her bag and out the door before the teen queen could pop another bubble.

But bless their hearts they tried—a pitiful, miniscule attempt at security in the form of an archeaic video camera perched in the corner which swiveled at such a snail pace, it gave her the blind spot she would need to make her move and slip out through exit number two. 

Her fingers twitched for the feeling again—no matter how wrong it was.  Blood vessels raged beneath her skin begging for the cold, undeniable knowledge that what she held didn’t belong to her—but she’d taken it anyway.