General

I have been in this store so often of late, I am their newest and most friendly customer. I know the security guards by name and how many kids each cashier has. I am almost part of the scenery, the guards don't watch me at all. I'm "good ol' KC," completely trustworthy, that's me. I dress nicely and carry a laptop bag, my shoes are expensive and my hair well-groomed. After this small amount of ground work it is time to reap my rewards. I go for small but expensive items, things I can sell or trade: make-up, chocolate, pharmaceuticals and batteries. It all goes out in my computer bag and I always pay for something pricey on the way out. I wasn't always this way; I used to snatch and run. My mother told me "don't you ever get caught shoplifting again!" and I didn't. Didn't get caught that is. And why shouldn't I? Don't they make insane profits from the working poor? Don't they ding them for every dime while trying to look good with loyalty programs? Not that I'm Robin Hood...

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 18, 2014.
General

Simon strolled the aisles of the newsagents looking for envelopes. He had to send something snail-mail for a job he was quoting on. With a candy bar in his brown hand he searched until he found what he was looking for; A4, white and self-sealing. On the way to the counter his phone buzzed, it was Amanda, hysterical again. She had woken to find him gone and panicked. When he'd promised to take care of her he's never imagined his home would become his prison. How could he take a job with her like this? He threw down the envelopes and stormed out. In moments he was knocked to the pavement, disorientated and bleeding from his lower lip. His assailant sat on his chest making it hard to breathe. There were sirens and a flickering blue light, then a cop pulled him to his feet. "Shop-lifting hey laddie? Drop the candy in this bag and place your hands behind your back. The street swam in and out of focus as the cuffs clamped onto his wrists. Then he remembered Amanda. He had to get home...

General

Me and Tommy work the shops in a pair. He walks in first, his comprehensive school uniform all messed up, a ring in one ear and a shaved head. I slip in a few seconds later in a neat pressed St. Cuthberts uniform, a perfect ponytail and shy demeanour. 'Course it helps that I'm white and he's black. Those morons just stare at him, follow him, obsess over his every movement. I pack the bag with low weight high price items and then pay for something pink and cheap, mission accomplished. We split the profits fifty-fifty. He actually gives ten percent of his to church and saves the rest for college if you can believe that, like it's some regular job. But not me, mine pays for my nails, my hair and spa days. I'll always get money, it's just out there for the taking.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 18, 2014.
General

This Isn't stealing, it's borrowing and never giving back. No one will know and besides, I'm desperate. That pretty bright pink dress with adorable sequins doesn't come often, you know, and I just have to have it. Life with out that dress is meaningless and not worth living. I quickly walk up to the rack, my heart pounding with anticipation and horror. I grab it, making a quick dash out of the store.

By aria, December 18, 2014.