Minted by Nicola Humphreys

We thought it was a game. A competition. Training. Preparation for the future.  Every week, we got a chance to disable the alarm, pick the lock, open the safe, change a tyre, strip a weapon or do some other task we were going to need when the internet failed or the electricity got switched off. The winner got double ice-cream and didn’t have to do the dishes. Well, now I work in an ice-cream parlor, washing up glass bowls and stainless steel milkshake cups. How’s that for irony?

He used to chew double bubble gum all the time, to stay sharp, just in case. Always casing. He hated that I could read keys and didn’t need to make a mould of them. There was nothing wrong with his work. It was sloppy though, to leave strawberry sneezed spit at three locations.

Forge. Forger. Forget. I can’t. This is how I was made. It took months of practice to relax whenever I heard the sirens. They weren’t coming for me. It’s funny that they have to keep him in a secure room that can only be opened by pressing a button. If it all went down, he could just walk right out of there. Poof. Gone.

No-one knows I’m still playing. I’m average, boring, invisible, Miss Smith. Out of sight. Out of mind. A good little worker. I’ve swapped eight grand through the tills so far. If you’ve left your keys in my view, the chances are I’ve seen inside your house within the month. I can’t resist looking you right in the eye, knowing you’ll never realize what I’ve taken.

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Nicola Humphreys writes short stories about food, loss, and a sense of belonging. She’s moved house sixteen times, so is used to starting over, knowing the threads of physical connection will always be temporary. Although she has never been long listed in any literary competition, she did have one joke published in a book when she was a child. Her first story in print, ‘May Settle in Transit’ appears in the anthology “An Attempt at Exhausting a Place in Leicester.” You can read more here: aramblingcollective.wordpress.com

Photo: Dan Schiumarini