looting - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
"Years ago I saw a mob looting on television, just for kicks. Or maybe it was inner frustration at "the man," who's to say? Either way they took something sacred to the rest of us and treated it with disrespect. They took property hard won and trashed it out of rage. I don't condemn others, only our Lord can judge, but I need law and order, don't we all? I need stable society, but I also need to eat, need shelter, need safety for my family and loved ones. We're all like that, right? So if your only option to stay alive was to steal a loaf of bread you'd do it, I know you would. Is it still stealing then? Or is that survival? If my baby is hungry I don't need someone's permission to take that loaf, I don't. Neither do you. At that point the only thing that mattered would be the true motive. Can looting a television ever be morally right? What if the person needed it for survival? Could that ever be true? What I saw in my hometown was just violence, disappointment over a sporting event. So personally, I think they should have more self control. That looting was wrong. It was illegal. Yet now, as the dawn breaks over the horizon and the lights are off, hunger stalks. The bread is there for the taking and my children's stomachs will rumble for breakfast soon."
Let the looting begin. Let's take from the corporations the only thing they love - money. They stole our celebrations that were about family, community and relationships and made every last one of them a festival of greed. They took what was good and holy in us and twisted it to suit their own fat wallets. So today we start to loot, to take what was never theirs. Our labour isn't for sale, we work only for love.
We never thought of it as looting, they were resources and our stomachs were empty. Those that judge us from mansions with more provisions that anyone could ever need aren't worthy to lick our boots. We survived. We did what we had to do to put clothes on the backs of our children and healthy food in their bellies. We gave them the best we could, a childhood, love and hope. Those were hard times, times so hard we made more mistakes than we'd like. Yet our community had more love on our gloomy days than the psycho kings in the palaces had on the finest of days. So in truth, we were the ones being fed, while the gluttons in velvet starved, feast after feast leaving their souls as thin as ghosts.
You stole my years, I take the filthy products you made with my time. I take it all, loot it right from under your nose you greedy son of a bitch. I can do it too. I'm gonna drain your world of money until you have less power than a solitary ant. Screw you and your hive mind, I've got better things to do with my life.
After the power winked out things got pretty crazy in the daytime. The looting wasn't just the disorderly few but the many, risking infection for tins of peas and bags of flour. I wasn't one of them. Not through higher morals or fear of the virus. I loot whenever I can and if I was going to get it I would have gotten it from my parents. My parents who gave me two mutations and only one of them useful. The street lamps still worked then under their solar power, they still would if the bulbs and electronics weren't stolen. On those nights I could be seen under their yellow glow lugging car batteries back to the old bank. They just became valuable. Very. It wasn't long before others caught on and soon the gangs would kill for one. That's when I stopped looting them and went to the suburbs for kid's toys. Not to play. I'm not a kid. But for the batteries. The ones in the stores are long gone but I know all those Mommas had 'em stashed away for croaking frogs and remote control cars.
...Once inside the room I have my routine. Stop for five whole minutes and listen. Close the curtains. Check the bedside cabinets and bathrooms for pharmaceuticals and toiletries. Small weight, big trade value. Then go through closets, drawers and suitcases. Check pockets. I only take clothing I want for myself; waterproof parkers, soft boots, pants and t-shirts. Black preferably, charcoal grey at the lightest. Normally it takes a handful of rooms to hit the jackpot, but this one's a real gem. Whoever the not-so-good-looking corpse is had a whole heap of medical issues. They must have rattled just to get out of bed. I’ve got anti-depressants, painkillers, blood thinners, anti-psychotics and cigarettes. But best of all he or she, I can’t tell yet, has antibiotics, lots of them. These alone are worth more than a months food for just me...
...back then the use of my skill set carried a twenty year jail term, not anymore. Law and order was an early casualty of the pandemic. At first the police tried to stop the looters but it wasn’t long before they were the worst looters of all. In the end the ones that were left standing joined the gangs for protection, buying their way in with the promise of arms and stolen goods.
These streets were once home to the smaller stores, the ones that were looted by even the most inexperienced of survivors, including myself. I took so many things from here. Mostly candy. Everyone ignored it going right for the healthy stuff, the pricey proteins, bread, rice, flour and luxury goods. I took a rucksack and packed it with every candy bar I could cram in. Then I took three more bags and did the same. Most people just looked at me like I was nuts, but I knew this stuff would be better than cash in the future that lay ahead. They’re all just sugar-junkies in denial or thinking how to feed their kids healthy food. Then I cruised all the stores picking up more sweet stuff, pudding, fruit cocktail, peaches in syrup, granola bars. Give them a month on rice and lentils and I’ll be able to name my price.
There are of course closer neighbourhoods, but they were all plundered long ago. These ones further out have been robbed too, but mostly only for food. Things like children's clothing should still be here and that's all I need tonight, anything else is a bonus; new backpack to replace the one I lost to Carlos would be great. Even in this half-light the front yards are jungles of once expensive plants. Roses fight for space with tall grasses and the moult from the trees lies in unswept piles of rain-sodden mush. I don't care if a house is pristine and un-burgled, just that it isn't currently occupied. In many ways a kicked in door just makes my life easier, and if it's still flapping in the wind rather than jammed shut so much the better.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .