There were some rules to writing the story, set by a writer friend:
- None of the characters real names could be used.
- 95% of the story had to take place in the van.
- The story had to be about the aftermath of a messed up bank heist.
- The mother of one of the thieves had to be involved.
Please let me know what you think. What do you think would improve the story?
The Money’s in the Bank
Wearing old fashioned garb and smelling faintly of cauliflower, he waited impatiently in the driver seat of the van. Sweat beads rolled down his temples, he reached down to scratch his balls. Why the hell did he always have to do the driving? He knew how to intimidate. He knew how to shoot a gun. The part that he disliked the most about driving was the tension. He couldn't get out and stretch his legs or run a few lengths of the street cus if the boys came out of that bank and he wasn't ready to drive, he'd be in serious trouble. And this ‘no names’ business was confusing too. At the very least could they pick cool colour names like Mr. Green in that famous heist movie?
Sweat rolled down his skin all over. The only one in the gang who did not have to wear a balaclava, he was feeling the tension. That fucking tension.
The van side door shunted open. The Driver twisted in his seat and started the engine. A woman about 60 years of age was pushed in the van door. The woman wore a wide billowing dress that belonged in the 1950s. Three men climbed in after her. The sliding door was slammed behind them. One of the men was very tall and gangly, another was short and chubby. The third man was a giant, standing at 6"11.
"Fucking go, ya cunt!" said one of the men in the back.
The van lurched forward and then sped away.
The woman looked upset, no, the Driver realised she looked angry.
The Driver glanced into the back of the van. Having returned his gaze to the road, he spoke.
"Why are you guys still wearing your balaclavas?"
"Cus she's here," said the chubby one, pointing at the woman.
There was a brief pause.
"Why is she here?" said the Driver.
"Ask Fucko over there," said Chubby.
"Who, may I ask is 'Fucko'?" said the Driver.
"Him, the skinny bastard!" Chubby pointed at the tall and gangly thief who somehow managed to appear embarrassed even with his balaclava still on. Fucko mumbled something inaudible to the Driver.
"What was that?"
"I said, she's my ma."
"Your 'ma'?"
"Yeh, my ma."
The Driver could not believe what he was hearing.
