finders keepers - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Adam paused, head tilted toward the already black sky. The moonlight streamed down upon his wintry pale skin. He pointed to the moon, the shape of his lips reflecting the crescent above. "Finders keepers, losers weepers. There, it's mine. That's settled. How much do you think I can sell it for?"
"Finders keepers!" the girl crowed, cowering with narrowed eyes toward the passage way. Before she fled between graffitied walls she waved the little book one more time. I think that's when Brian lost his cool. That phrase always bothered him. It's what his older brother said every time he ate what should have been Brian's, and that's not something a growing boy forgets with ease. The last I saw of him was his pale sneaker, worn and grubby, disappearing into that fateful alley. It was me that found him after, me that kept him for his mother. Finders keepers. The diary still got out, she published the lot not caring for the damage to the community. So long as she got hers, that's all that mattered. But you know what they say about revenge. I don't just serve it cold I go for absolute zero. Zero compassion, zero warning, zero second chances, absolutely,
The only rule in the house was "finders keepers." The teens loved it and the younger ones went hungry. The children in that house lived Darwinian theory, only the fittest and meanest thrived. In a weird kind of way the parents approved, admiring their tough and ruthless brood. Crying was for "babies" and even a bleeding nose was nothing to "whine about." They weren't so much a family as a bunch of people competing, making transitory alliances of convenience and hating each other, hating the world. "Finders Keepers" moulded them into something less human underneath and set them on a path to extract as much from the world as they could, hoard it, hide it.
In the dirt lay a broken figure, the mud obscuring any colour it once had. Tom picked it up, turning it over and over. Against his skin it was cool with the slight softness of old wood that's seen too much moisture. Kevin reached for it. "Finders keepers!" Tom shot into the woodland air, "it's mine!" Kevin let out a low whistle and stepped back.
"Alright, Tommo, keep your hair on." But Tom wasn't listening. His limbs tingled and his brain surged with possibilities. Suddenly, somehow he knew he was of regal birth, destined for greatness and Kevin was trying to stop him. He half turned to his friend and spoke, though his voice seemed to come from the soil beneath their feet.
The morning had more than a bite of frost and the air made Sarah's lungs feel chilled just to breath it in. Luke was digging into the freshly fallen leaves, having dragged out his fathers rake out of the garage. How he stumbled with it. Sarah stifled a laugh. That old fork must be heavier than him. He paused for a moment and bent low, examining the ground in front of him like he'd found some marvellous bug. In that suspended moment Sarah's heart stopped beating, the strong early light shining strongly from the steel barrel of the revolver. His face split a grin as he held it like all the cops do on the TV shows, "Finders keepers, mama!"
Perched on the end of Gina's bed was the old lady from over the hall, rocking back and forth. In her gnarled hands was the figurine from home, the only thing her husband had gotten passed hospital security. He'd put it in their daughter's sippy cup and filled it with berry juice, no-one was getting that away from her. She'd been disappointed to finish it earlier than usual but happy to find mother's "angel" at the bottom. The old woman turned and spoke with the voice of a petulant child, "Finders keepers, losers weepers!" Then she turned back to the angel and stroked it again, its owner quite forgotten.
Ben hopped from foot to foot, a clear head taller than his sister. In his hands he held her cookie, crumbs still decorating his lips from his own. His face was once of pure glee, his eyes alight with the kind of pleasure born of mischief. "Finders keepers, losers weepers!" he sang out.
Alia slid her hand into Tony's pocket, teeth softly biting into her lower lip. He gazed at her face, not moving the arms he'd wrapped around her waist. He felt a soft tug from his pocket and Alia pulled away into the soft glow of the streetlight. In her hands were the keys to his new car. "Finders keepers, losers weepers," she said, her voice echoing around the brick row-houses and sending a nested bird into the air.
Sydney stopped. There in the myriad of browns that covered the sidewalks was one that didn't belong there. Possibly it was the hue that gave it away, too reddish after all the rains; possibly it was the shape, despite being partially obscured his brain told him it was unnatural. He bent slowly, his head still pounding from the night before. His fingers closed around it to feel the tell tale sign of leather, some kind of fashion wallet. "Finders keepers, losers weepers," he thought. As he opened it a photograph tumbled down landing face up and he found himself looking into the face of a girl.
On the sidewalk lay a watch. Without walking any closer Mav new it was expensive. The gold glinted so casually in the early light. To the birds and the cats this was no more interesting than a rock, less important than a worm, but to Mav it was money. "Finders keepers, losers weepers," he whispered as he picked it up, surprised by the coolness of the metal. He turned it to find an inscription on the back.
"To the finest captain anywhere..."
Fiona caught an unexpected reflection of the streetlamp that struggled above. She half expected it to be broken glass, having almost cut right through her shoe only the previous Tuesday. Gingerly, she let her fingertips touch it, but instead of the expected sharpness it was quite smooth. Pulling it from between the weeds that bolted through the sidewalk cracks she let it dangle. It was a locket, larger than she'd seen in the stores. Silver leaves curled around it making heart shapes. "Finders keepers," she whispered only loud enough for herself to hear, then so as to seal her mental pact she added, "losers weepers."
Tammy looked at the pouch, bulging with coin. "Possession is nine tenths of the law," she thought to herself, fingering the velvet. "The owner can't need it, they're so rich they didn't notice," she added, this time in a mutter. She startled. The bar was darker than the twilight outside but still she made out the profile of Travis, his head tilted to one side like some listening cat.
"What is it you have there, Tammy?" He left his stool, sagging momentarily with gravity before uprighting himself and taking a step toward her.
"Finders keepers, losers weepers, get lost Travis."