Never Never Land

Tunnels and Islands

Joliet's black hair sweeps into her eyes as the rain blurs her vision.

Red and blue lights flash across her face.

She groans. "Oh come on!"

She runs down the street and into the woods.

She keeps running until the lights fade.

She makes her way to the hidden trap door, deep in the woods.

The tunnel is her home, where she can escape and survive.

Joliet Jackson is a sixteen year old who is wanted for stealing books, lamps, sleeping bags, money from cash registers, a few pick pocketed wallets, clothes, backpacks, shovels, and strangely, a few glass sculptures to decorate the tunnels.

She lights the lamps.

She sighs as she dumps the contents from her backpack. Batteries. For the flashlights and lamps. She climbs on her small cot and peers through the window. The sky is clear and the stars bright.

She collapses on the warm sleeping bag.

She changes into her old XXXXL T-shirt that reaches her calves. The store she stole it from was Bob's Big and Large Market.

All her clothes smell like the woods, soil, or drug stores.

Joliet ran from home when her mom was about to send her off to a boarding school. She stole what she could, and last year she was nearly caught for stealing a case of watches, each paid one grand. She was able to build the tunnels and survive for the past year after selling the watches.

Joliet runs through the silent streets of Bangor, Maine.

She takes a bobby pin from her hair and a nail file.

She jams the file between the door and the frame. And she waits to hear the click of the door opening as she turns the pin around.

She knows the family is out. She just wants to know what's inside.

They run one of the most successful businesses in Maine. They run the system of the Bangor Bay.

The door swings open. She walks over to the alarm system.

ALARM ACTIVATED

She plugs the drive in and watches the words change to:

ALARM CANCELLED.

She smirks. They have to work out their alarm system. She imagines the Dawson family suing their alarm company.

The house is huge. And flashy.

Her gloved hands fall over the glass swan on the dining table.

She rolls her eyes at the family photo.

The mother has a warm smile, but her eyes are cold as steel. The husband is in a fancy suit, and is smiling like his perfect life is perfect, and he knows it. Their kid is her age. He has a forced smile in the photo. His eyes are warm caramel, the same color as his hair.

She puts the framed photo back.

She fills her bag with food. Leftover sushi, chicken, and salad.

"Fancy," she mutters.

She finds a discarded wad of cash on the dining table and pockets that too.

She cusses under her breath when headlights come from the window. She ducks under the bed of the closest room.

She curses herself again when she realizes it's the kid's room.

Snoring brings her out from under the bed.