The Violinist

I insert the quarter in the slots and enter the public showers.

It’s not the best. First of all, you only get three minutes and the only water there is is cold. The workers never bother to clean them; they just mop up the excess water every night and stand in the corners, supervising everybody. You have to pay for soap and shampoo, unless you have some. In my case, I have just enough money to myself sanitary products weekly. My mother practically forces us.

I finish a bit faster than usual, so I stand in the cold until the water runs out. After a few seconds of changing, I head over to the dryers and dry my hair.

My sister’s and my hygiene was always at a top level. The death toll on the streets has never been higher, so we must always be clean and healthy, even if it means food shortages.

Thinking of that, the food coins in my pocket jingle much louder, and I turn on 31st street to Barbara’s Bakery. Barbara is my mother’s friend and we always buy from her. She hands me a warm roll of bread, and whispers in my ear, “Happy Birthday Mauray. Cookies are inside, for free!”

As sad as it may sound, I had forgotten my own birthday. I was busy everyday, collecting food for my family and keeping myself healthy. I was glad she reminded me.

I race down 34th street down to my family’s little shack, our only shelter from the cold nights. Many families live this way after they lost their jobs and homes. We had just enough money to buy a small shack. There were no taxes, which had never been higher, so everything was good.

I had a bit of trouble opening the rusty door until Litsbia came to open it.

“Guess what?” I question. My family looks at me and Litsbia asks, “What is it Mau?” I take out the bread and warm cookies package and unpack it. They all smile at me and whisper happy birthday as they hug me.

“Let’s get to business,” my father states. I immediately know what happened.

“Hamillia Goniez died yesterday. She has no kids, or relatives, for that matter, and the Tage is selling her house, without the furniture,” Hamillia Gonies, the richest and most selfish person in the Reys died, meaning her furniture would be stolen, a golden opportunity for money.

The Tage was nice to do this.

“When?” is my only response. “Today, at night, like always. Litsbia will help us, and Yve is staying home to be ready to take everything in. Falc already gave me floor plans and keys; we’ll get there a bit early to get ready.”

I eat my food eagerly and get the best clothes out, from the last time we stole items from a similar person. Tonight, I will no longer be poor.

_=.*.=_

As planned, we got to Hamillia Goniez’s villa a moment before the last golden rays disappear. The remaining patrol guards left for a coffee or home, and the streets seemed too empty, as if something big would happen.

It will.

Everyone knows Hamillia Goniez keeps great treasures locked up in her house. She traveled the world many times, bought items from museums as if they were her personal auction, and robbed a bank, all while being proven innocent. She had the money to do that, while most earned a few meaningless pennies daily. She was the most selfish person, and karma came back after a few years.

I hack open the door and a few people hurry in. Most will only rob some basics: a bed or two, simple furniture for their homes, some clothing. But if you have a high position in the so-called “street-govie,” you get access to extra homes, get more food, and have a better life. My father is the representative chosen for 31St street to 35th street, a high ranking considering many people live there.

I take a peak at the floor plans and start climbing to the third story window. I use the same tool I used to open the door to break open the window and climb inside.

Perfect.

It’s Hamillia Goniez’s jewelry room.

I grab the jewel adorned boxes and stash them in my backpack. I grab over thirty small boxes. When room in my backpack lessens, I hide jewels in my shoes, pockets, shirt, and even hair.

But something else catches my eye.

A single case, lying in its own little sanctuary. I grab it, wondering about its contents. I start climbing down to the second story.

Some museum would pay for this…

I grab the Ancient Egyptian looking statue and continue climbing down.

My father grabs me and wraps me up in a blanket so nothing would fall out. We race to our

house.

“The jewels were magnificent. Her brush was worth more than our house!” I announce. He continues to run, and as we pass our house I know were we are going. The street-govie headquarters, located below the tall apartments. We race down the stairs and front room, to the main offices. Falc and Rusty, as he’s called, are waiting impatiently in the master area where the most important people work. Falc had been scribbling and Rusty had been throwing a plastic cup over his head. He places me down and I begin to take out the jewels, from my pockets, hair, backpack, and shoes. They all stare in wonder as Hamillia Goniez’s treasures are spilled in front of them. I take the strange case and show it to them.

“I have no idea what it is. I just took it ‘cause it seemed important,” I tell them, waiting for an answer. Rusty inspects it and opens it, finding a wooden instrument.

“It’s a violin. Goniez was known to play one. No one really cares about them too much, other than the rich slobs living down town. They like to have someone entertain them, and then they pay for it. It would be a good business, playing for them,” he tells us. I take out the statue and show that to them also.

“Ah, Egyptian art. Always was my favorite while I worked at the museum. I say its value is somewhere around a few thousand, but I’d like to keep it. That okay with your girlie?” Rusty says us. I always respected Rusty, so I say yes.

“And in return,” he continues,”I’ll pay for her violin lessons.”

I stare at him in shock. He just nods, taking my hand spreading my fingers.

“I once played myself. I say you would be good at it, long fingers and a long arm. A friend of mine plays violin, he could teach you, maybe even for free.”

I look at my dad. He nods in agreement and I look back at Rusty. I nod and he smiles at me.

“I’ll talk to him soon. It might need a bit of repair, since the case was for show, not for protection, and maybe you’ll be able to start in a week or so.”

“Hey,” Falc speaks up,”Gimma that jewel and I’ll give ya my old horse. Nice Friesian, somewhere around four years. There’s a stable west of the city, but you could easily build yar own with that money ya’ll get from the jewel selling.”

A horse seems nice, so I hand over the yellow stone to Falc.

He grunts. “Topaz, I’d say.”

He takes it and stuffs the topaz into his pocket.

“I say you head down to the auctions. The rest, just keep or share with your close friends,” Rusty recommends. “I’ll be sure to do that, Rusty,” my father replies.

~~~~

Thank you for reading! I really need opinions on this story, so one would be very helpful. I'll upload every few days, so it's not like you'll be stuck waiting two months for the next part of the story. Spread the word, vote, comment, like, tweet!

***Also, this story is in desperte need of  book cover. If you would like to make one, please contact me.