justprompts Misc Prompts: "I didn't do it."
Her eyes shifted back and forth. There it was. Not some piddly tall or a predicable grande, but an honest-to-God six-trips-to-the-bathroom-before-noon venti! Alone, unaccompanied, apparently abandoned among the stacks of files on his desk, alone, forgotten….beaconing, calling, screaming for attention.
His $4.95-plus-tax loss, her gain.
A split second later she was humming smugly over the still steaming lid.
Alright, in some circles her actions would be called a disorder, a personality fault, even a sickness. Although she’d never admit to that far. A quirk maybe, a bad habit. If pressed she might go as far as referring to it as an occasional momentary lapse of judgment.
Yeah...whatever.
There was just something satisfying about the thrill of the find and getting away with the crime.
She always justified her actions by telling herself that it was just a matter of finders losers; that possession was nine-tenths of the law; the forbidden always tastes sweeter….Which wasn’t much of a stretch considering the brew in her hand. That swill in the urn in the corner of the precinct’s bull pen maybe, but there was something almost sacrilegious in the desecration of the perfect cup of Colombian with six sugars and two creams.
It was her hedonistic mission…no, her solemn duty to do something about it. So, with another quick sweep of the room and the last drags of that South American caffeine was on its way to hum in her veins.
All that was left was the escape leaving nothing but a lipstick smear in her wake and the words on the tip of her tongue…. ‘ Me? I didn’t do it.’
His $4.95-plus-tax loss, her gain.
A split second later she was humming smugly over the still steaming lid.
Alright, in some circles her actions would be called a disorder, a personality fault, even a sickness. Although she’d never admit to that far. A quirk maybe, a bad habit. If pressed she might go as far as referring to it as an occasional momentary lapse of judgment.
Yeah...whatever.
There was just something satisfying about the thrill of the find and getting away with the crime.
She always justified her actions by telling herself that it was just a matter of finders losers; that possession was nine-tenths of the law; the forbidden always tastes sweeter….Which wasn’t much of a stretch considering the brew in her hand. That swill in the urn in the corner of the precinct’s bull pen maybe, but there was something almost sacrilegious in the desecration of the perfect cup of Colombian with six sugars and two creams.
It was her hedonistic mission…no, her solemn duty to do something about it. So, with another quick sweep of the room and the last drags of that South American caffeine was on its way to hum in her veins.
All that was left was the escape leaving nothing but a lipstick smear in her wake and the words on the tip of her tongue…. ‘ Me? I didn’t do it.’