The Painted Window

"Lucy, it's your turn!" muses Reagan. "What do you pick? Truth or dare?"

Trying to avoid the embarrassment and awkwardness that would result from asking for truth, I ruefully ask for dare.

"Okay, Miss Lucinda, I dare you to go down to the milk bar and grab some cans of soda for me and Reagan," says Camilla with a cheeky smile.

Hesitation and doubt cloud my face. I never believed that my friends would force me to shoplift!

"Or you're a wet blanket, Lucy," adds Reagan.

                                                                       ❤ ❤ ❤    

I gulp in a mouthful of fresh night air as I walk down the street, with Reagan and Camilla behind. I hesitate, lingering on the threshold of the store. It's only until Camilla - who is giggling uncontrollably - gives me a push, that I finally find myself in the lair of my doom.

 Walking briskly to the back of the deserted shop, I locate the fridges and hastily stuff two cans of Coke into my bag, making sure that I'm out of view from the shopkeeper, before randomly deciding to grab a can of Fanta. This time I actually plan to purchase it, in order to avoid inevitable suspicion from the nosy shopkeeper at the counter. I tell myself to calm down and head for the counter.

 "Two dollars, please," croaks the old shopkeeper in a peculiar European accent, as she scans my drink. "Is that all?"

I nod absently as I observe her wrinkled face. She has a permanent frown, and the corners of her mouth are constantly turned down, making her look like someone who's lost everything. However, there is something pitiable in her facial expression and I immediately feel guilty for shoplifting her profitless and unpopular business.

 I rummage in my bag for some change, hand her the money, and eagerly make for the exit. Pride overwhelms me. I've done it! I almost give out a shout for joy, but that raspy voice calls me back. Dread pools in my heart once more.

"Now wait a minute dearie...What's that you got in your bag?" she says triumphantly, right behind me. "Two cans of Coca Cola with my nice big sticker stuck right on the front! I don't remember you purchasing them!"

I jump with alarm and whirl around, my heart beating fast. I glance in my bag, and notice with aggravation the cans of Coke lying right on top, with the store sticker facing the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights above. In front of me stands the shopkeeper, legs apart and arms crossed, her eyes flashing and her mouth set in a firm line.

"P-p-please don't call the cops..." I plead desperately.

"Ha! There we go! Just before you were so bold and daring, but now you are so scared! Now, it is up to me to decide what shall happen with you! Ha! Let me think..."

"I can -"

The shopkeeper holds up her hand, thinking hard. The silence is unbearable. She might call the cops, or she might not. My heart is pounding like the feet of olympic sprinters pound the track. Should I just make a run for it?

"I shall not call the police, but only if you do me a small favour."

The victorious look is still there, so I don't dare to go against her authority, and bewildered I wonder what this 'small favour' is going to be. After she closes the shop I follow her subserviently upstairs, into her living room. It's quite dark, with scanty lighting. A musty smell hangs about the vintage paintings and ancient rugs adorned in florid designs.

"I suppose I have not yet introduced myself. My name is Ms Pliszka. And your name is...?"

"I'm Lucy," I reply, surprised at her change of attitude.