Post by StrathWriters on Nov 19, 2009 10:52:24 GMT
You casually turn about and start wandering in the direction of the lower platforms where your train will be. Of course, you make sure your path is taking you right past the old lady who is still messing around trying to find exact change despite the dozens of small coins she’s no doubt already holding in one hand. You check all the vantage points for potential witnesses as you stroll closer and closer to the purse full of cash.
Your heart starts to beat faster and you hope your nerves don’t make you freeze up at the critical moment. Your common sense calls out to you that this isn’t the smartest thing to do in the middle of a crowded train station, no doubt with cameras watching. You nod to acknowledge its point but then opportunistic thinking head-butts common sense in the face, reminding you that since the departure screen just got fixed, everyone is moving to their desired platforms with all the coordination of a car wreak. Not even the cameras could figure out what’s going on in this confusing moment of sudden congestion.
Besides, you’re committed now as you swoop in for the snatch, not wanting to steel the actual purse, but get the ample dough within. With dexterity you didn’t know you had, you wrap your greedy fingers around the notes and pull away in a movement so smooth you could have been dancing to the snatch beat. You pocket the cash. Increase your walking pace. Almost round the corner. Almost home free.
“Hey! Stop! Thief!” a voice yells. You can tell it’s not the old lady’s voice, but you don’t look back to see who shouted. You increase your pace to power walking. You round the corner, heart starting to hammer. Out of the sight of whoever shouted, you break into a run and reach the escalator. Running feet start catching up behind you. The escalator is blocked by people too inconsiderate too walk down the already moving steps. It’s too narrow to squeeze past anybody.
“There! Stop him!” The same voice sounded from the top of the escalator. This time you turn to see the voice, just like everyone else. Four people behind you on the escalator is a scarlet haired girl, glaring at you as she points. “They stole some old lady’s money!” she screamed.
You turn and point at someone just past you, nearing the bottom of the escalator. “Who? Them!?” you accuse a bewildered bystander. The ruse only lasts a second as the scarlet haired girl shouts out your hair and jacket colour. Your heart feels like its about to burst from your chest as you notice the people either side of you on the escalator turn on you. You burst past them, avoid their clutching hands and plough your way down the last quarter of the steps, shoving past everyone else, sending most of them flying. Your feet hit solid, unmoving ground, and you kick off.
No point trying to reach the platform now: you decide to just sprint out of the nearest exit. Thump! Two pairs of fast, strong hands grab you and the world turns into a blur as you feel yourself propelled to the floor. Your cheek is pressed against the freezing concrete and you can only see a crowd of bystanders slowly gather, staring at you. A pair of handcuffs ensnares your wrists, the biting steel digging painfully into your skin. When you’re pulled to your feet you feel dizzy, the world spins as if mocking your foolishness. Your see the two police officers that plucked you right out of your escape scene like a harmless leaf out of a gentle breeze. What the hell? Where did they even come from?!?
The scarlet haired girl is there too, explaining with an irritating amount of detail and accuracy how you had casually walked past twice, and on the second time grabbed the money. A few moments later the old lady appears from your escape escalator and you have never seen such a look of scorn on any human being.
For the next half hour, your life occurs before you but you don’t tune in. Charges are read out, witness statements taken. A squad car arrives nearby and you are guided to it, your hands still bound by the cold iron of the law. As you sit in the car and are driven away you look out the window at the bleak day outside. It is the most miserable day in existence, and it’s not just the chill in the air, nor the morbid hammering of raindrops on the police car roof. You gaze out the window and see that everyone looks unwell. They slowly walk with sleeping faces, like they’re all arriving at a funeral. As the police car goes through a crossing you see someone put their head down on the steering wheel as if to sleep, despite the fact the red light will be over in an instant.
It seems odd, you think. Tuning back into your senses, you notice even the police officers in the front seem sluggish. At least they were still awake. Then your vision moves to notice the driver of the approaching lorry. That driver is very much asleep and that lorry is very much veering towards your ride.
Too late, the officer swerves. The police car complete fails to evade in time and CRASH-
You struggle to open your eyes. Pain all over. The police car is overturned. What little vision you have sees oil on the glass littered concrete outside, slowly seeping around the car. You hear the crackling of nearby flames, like the evil cackle of the devil himself. You taste blood, feel heat, and you can smell… Barbeque. Well done.
The End. Somehow I think you could have made a smarter choice. Oh Well.
Your heart starts to beat faster and you hope your nerves don’t make you freeze up at the critical moment. Your common sense calls out to you that this isn’t the smartest thing to do in the middle of a crowded train station, no doubt with cameras watching. You nod to acknowledge its point but then opportunistic thinking head-butts common sense in the face, reminding you that since the departure screen just got fixed, everyone is moving to their desired platforms with all the coordination of a car wreak. Not even the cameras could figure out what’s going on in this confusing moment of sudden congestion.
Besides, you’re committed now as you swoop in for the snatch, not wanting to steel the actual purse, but get the ample dough within. With dexterity you didn’t know you had, you wrap your greedy fingers around the notes and pull away in a movement so smooth you could have been dancing to the snatch beat. You pocket the cash. Increase your walking pace. Almost round the corner. Almost home free.
“Hey! Stop! Thief!” a voice yells. You can tell it’s not the old lady’s voice, but you don’t look back to see who shouted. You increase your pace to power walking. You round the corner, heart starting to hammer. Out of the sight of whoever shouted, you break into a run and reach the escalator. Running feet start catching up behind you. The escalator is blocked by people too inconsiderate too walk down the already moving steps. It’s too narrow to squeeze past anybody.
“There! Stop him!” The same voice sounded from the top of the escalator. This time you turn to see the voice, just like everyone else. Four people behind you on the escalator is a scarlet haired girl, glaring at you as she points. “They stole some old lady’s money!” she screamed.
You turn and point at someone just past you, nearing the bottom of the escalator. “Who? Them!?” you accuse a bewildered bystander. The ruse only lasts a second as the scarlet haired girl shouts out your hair and jacket colour. Your heart feels like its about to burst from your chest as you notice the people either side of you on the escalator turn on you. You burst past them, avoid their clutching hands and plough your way down the last quarter of the steps, shoving past everyone else, sending most of them flying. Your feet hit solid, unmoving ground, and you kick off.
No point trying to reach the platform now: you decide to just sprint out of the nearest exit. Thump! Two pairs of fast, strong hands grab you and the world turns into a blur as you feel yourself propelled to the floor. Your cheek is pressed against the freezing concrete and you can only see a crowd of bystanders slowly gather, staring at you. A pair of handcuffs ensnares your wrists, the biting steel digging painfully into your skin. When you’re pulled to your feet you feel dizzy, the world spins as if mocking your foolishness. Your see the two police officers that plucked you right out of your escape scene like a harmless leaf out of a gentle breeze. What the hell? Where did they even come from?!?
The scarlet haired girl is there too, explaining with an irritating amount of detail and accuracy how you had casually walked past twice, and on the second time grabbed the money. A few moments later the old lady appears from your escape escalator and you have never seen such a look of scorn on any human being.
For the next half hour, your life occurs before you but you don’t tune in. Charges are read out, witness statements taken. A squad car arrives nearby and you are guided to it, your hands still bound by the cold iron of the law. As you sit in the car and are driven away you look out the window at the bleak day outside. It is the most miserable day in existence, and it’s not just the chill in the air, nor the morbid hammering of raindrops on the police car roof. You gaze out the window and see that everyone looks unwell. They slowly walk with sleeping faces, like they’re all arriving at a funeral. As the police car goes through a crossing you see someone put their head down on the steering wheel as if to sleep, despite the fact the red light will be over in an instant.
It seems odd, you think. Tuning back into your senses, you notice even the police officers in the front seem sluggish. At least they were still awake. Then your vision moves to notice the driver of the approaching lorry. That driver is very much asleep and that lorry is very much veering towards your ride.
Too late, the officer swerves. The police car complete fails to evade in time and CRASH-
You struggle to open your eyes. Pain all over. The police car is overturned. What little vision you have sees oil on the glass littered concrete outside, slowly seeping around the car. You hear the crackling of nearby flames, like the evil cackle of the devil himself. You taste blood, feel heat, and you can smell… Barbeque. Well done.
The End. Somehow I think you could have made a smarter choice. Oh Well.