Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; I reach out and take something- that doesn’t belong to me. It’s usually something I don’t even want. Something I wouldn’t buy for myself- even if I had money to burn.
It’s a curse, this obsession I have with lifting things. A compulsion I might be able to justify, if only to myself- had I never been caught. But I have. Several times. So many times in fact that I fear being caught has become an integral part of the ritual.
The exhilarating rush experienced by deftly concealing some worthless trinket on my person, takes on orgasmic proportion, when I notice the shop owner- and she smiles that way. The way people only smile, when they know they have you. I gasp and jerk my hand back, but it’s too late.
I have become an expert at feigning remorse. So expert in fact that of’t times I fool even myself. Until the gloom returns. Until the doldrums begin devouring what is left of my soul. Until the sirens begin to sing- and I know there is but one path to redemption.
In addition to using the three phrases provided by the OLWG #25, this piece has been written in 50 word increments, and incorporates the last two weeks literary quote prompts from 50 Word Thursday. The included prompts are as follows:
- She smiled that way
- It’s a curse
- Money to burn