Week 6: The Klepto Siblings

Introduce a new character every paragraph. Every. Single. Paragraph.

Belle was the most innocent looking. Long, chestnut hair that lightly twirled at the ends, her dark fringed eyes never raised suspicion. It helped her voice was soft and high as a soprano bird, every word chirping with happiness. She could easily distract a guard while the rest of us did the dirty work. She liked it that way, involved but not part of the crime. Allowed her moral high ground to remain grey and fluid. She would be the hungriest of the bunch too, stuffing an extra candy bar in her cheek, the chocolate melting and collecting at the corners of her mouth, a brown reminder of the extra sugar she was consuming. Her belly was soft and would protrude from whatever shirt she was wearing that day but her arms remained skinny twigs, defiant of the calories. 

Then there was Kristen. The permanent smell of bubblegum surrounded her, an aroma she'll have until death, where her grandchildren will reminisce in old tales of Grandma Kristen and her bubblegum smell. For how sweet the smell was, her personality certainly didn't match. Maybe that's why she chewed so much gum, so she could refrain herself from bitching at every passing stranger, just like she bitched at us, words snapping like the elastic pink in her mouth. We could always tell when she was irritated (a common occurrence) when the chewing would get violent. Stringy muscles protruded from her jaw as she chomped on the innocent pink gum, grinding the candy in between her teeth. She would be the most daring, grabbing the bigger or heavier objects and walk right out of the store with them in her arms, casual as if she had bought it. It worked most of the time, but it was a waste of our time. Some of our biggest arguments were about the big, useless things she would steal, stuff we couldn't sell right away and would have to leave it on the side of the road so we wouldn't have to lug it with us. 

Brianna would always back up Kristen. But she was the sneak, never to be trusted. Except for this last time, she'd pick the pockets of every patron before I'd even start my routine. She was the shortest, so she'd weave her way through the small isles of the store without the clerk noticing, then zip right back out again. Her role was always extra, if there was only one attendant working. The cash from wallets was a bonus, but if caught had bigger repercussions. Mostly we were hungry, so we'd stick with the food. She didn't mind the mops or the microwaves Kristen would steal, because to her anything was valuable. She had an animal-like possession in her, and you could feel the growl from her soul if you tried to take anything away from her. 

As the eldest, I was the brains of the operation. I would assign roles and characters like a director of a play. Sometimes at night, when the rest were sleeping sweatily next to me in the tent, our bodies radiating heat as we slept in piles like a forgotten litter, I would daydream I was a theater teacher at a high school. Nothing fancy, no big TV sets or star actors, just cardboard sets and scripts that were photocopied so many times the black lines would start to blur towards the edges. I would shout my directions to the kids, my hair in a crazy curly knot on the top of my head, #2 pencils half-chewed, sticking out of the tie. But instead of West Side Story I was conducting a short play of Survival, of Steal and Eat, of Sneak and Hide. I sighed and wiped the stray droplet of sweat off my brow and tried to make the dirt ground more comfortable, and fell asleep with a convenience store diet rumbling in my stomach.