Five-Finger Discount
Stealing is a sin. As listed in the Ten Commandments to ‘ not steal from thy
neighbors.’ It’s also against the morale that most good, caring parents and mentors had
taught you when you were old enough to comprehend the rights or wrongs of life.
Stealing is horrible, abhorred of society, but why do people still do it? Is it for yourself?
Is it for someone you care about? Or is it just for the fun and curiosity of it all, the thrill
of seeing if you’ll get caught or not.
A boring day
The sun was blazing intensely down onto humanity, so hot that the air seemed to
shimmer, and the grass was drying almost visibly. The sense of a breeze was nonexistent.
Cars whizzed by, their windows rolled up tightly, It was one of those Texas summer
days that no one would willingly be caught up in. We walked out of the house, all of
them totting small purses, except me. The purses were riding on their shoulders, empty
and light. The heat dripped on us as we walked out of the shade, practically melting us as
we started the straight, paved trek towards the shopping center that would be located on
any continent, Wal-Mart. Even though it was a straight, paved sidewalk, the absence of
shade made it almost unbearable.
The air-conditioning blasting on us was a relief when we arrived at our
destination. That
was when Sana noticed. “Why didn’t you bring a purse?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really want to carry one.” I’ve never felt right with a purse,
especially the bright yellow one that she had suggested. They talked excitedly, as we
strolled casually through the crowd, the medicine passing us on the left, the gummy
bears, chocolate, and sour straws on our right. The fluorescent lights from above made a
dull contrast from outside. Heading straight for the make-up aisle, they immediately
started grabbing, observing, and exclaiming at the products. Small stage lights lit on to
nail polishes, making them shine irresistibility. The mascaras and face bases were placed under or to the side of dark-lined eyes and clear stern faces of unknown models. It was
simply enticing. To buy something worth less than five dollars to turn out looking like
that. The products were practically begging to be plastered onto your face, calling out,
Don’t you want to look pretty? Like those people on the magazine covers? Only the right
brush strokes and perfectly applied powder, and you’ll be loved.
I felt plain compare to them; I’ve never really had the use of make-up. Gross. I don’t need it, was what I thought, or tried to think. So plain. I watched in amazement as a hand let slip, and the black eyeliner fell into the purse that she was carrying. I watched the other, older woman looking for their own right skin tone or color. No one had noticed. No one except the ones doing the crime. To talk about it, to discuss it, was one thing, but to actually see it happen before your eyes was something different. My friends continue to chatter on nonchantantly, their voices seemed loud in my ears as I watched the face base and eye shadow disappearing into the gaping mouth of the purse. The darkness of the inside seems infinite. It seemed like a black hole, swallowing everything that was nudged in its direction, while the little animals smiled happily on the outside.
After a sufficient amount, and a quick trip to the bathroom, we high-tailed it out of there. We emerged once again into the unwelcoming heat, but it was better than being caged and capture, and to face the shame of our parents
[lost.x.forever] Community Member 
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