In the Nick of Time. It’s a 6.

…Busy, bustling, glitter globbed bags slung up to her elbows like twinkly lights on a Christmas tree, she teetered on the top step for nary a second while trying to free the latch, then tumbled through the front door, dust flying everywhere as she landed softly inside her tiny abode.

Tell me again why I do this job?!”, the waif of a woman spoke loudly (way louder than her diminutive stature would suggest) as if there was someone there to answer her but there was no one, had not been anyone…ever.

Unselfishly devoted to her profession, she never considered being alone as anything other than a by-product of her specialized “calling”; surely nothing she would trade for the privilege of her current life, her life was her passion.

Inside her home, soft shades of buttercup drops and lemon soaked sun danced playfully off the ceiling, their reflections settling upon the tiny red and white checkerboard floor where she gingerly lay her bags of precious cargo, silently thanking the stars for the luck they’d shone upon her earlier that evening.

She’d heard tales of parents working late hours, looking in on their sleeping children at odd times during the evening, yet never once, had she been in danger of being discovered as she traded tooth for coin.. until this very night.

Hearing approaching footsteps, she’d made the exchange quickly, her face radiating iridescently as she imagined the surprise on the young child’s face upon waking to find the treasure beneath their pillow…

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16 thoughts on “In the Nick of Time. It’s a 6.

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