From different sides of the road (TinyThings & Adam)

[Adam Edwardson]

Daniel Galanis panted heavily as he leaned against a tall birch and hanged his head down in exhaustion. OK, that hadn't quite went as smoothly as he had planned it. In his mind, when he had pictured how it was supposed to go, he had just silently nicked the smartphone from the rich suit guy at the outdo dining area at the posh restaurant. He had his face buried deep in the Financial Times, he wouldn't even notice. Or miss it once it was gone, for that matter. But off course that's not how it went down. He had been busted in the act, the owner had yelled at him, and off course there was a police car just around the corner. For some reason there was always police nearby to the south of the highway, while you never saw them on the north side were most of the crimes were committed. So Daniel had been forced to run, jump over some fences in the flight and now he was standing here, safe and alone in the forest that surrounded the pretty little upstate New York town of Newburgh, located some 60 miles north of the Big Apple on the west shore of the Hudson.

Once his pulse had come down to normal levels again, he could not help to laugh at the situation. It had been fun, and after all he got the phone. Had he been the kind to reflect about his own behavior he might have detected a pattern that he usually followed - fuck up, run away from the mess, and ten have a laugh about it - but he was not so in his mind todays escapades were just another good story he could tell his friends about later.

Glancing at his watch, also an acquisition who had a similar story behind it, he figured that he could just as well take a walk to the pick up point. He would be an hour early, but with nothing else to do and a new phone to pass the time with he didn't mind waiting. As he walked through the sparse hardwood forest he put his SIM card into the new phone and then threw his ancient Nokia away over the shoulder. No need for that piece of garbage anymore.

He crossed Route 52 by foot, something that required either nerves or complete contempt of death. The highway separated the south part of town, where most of the rich people who just moved out here to afford bigger houses but still commuted to New York lived, from the forgotten and run down hell hole of Balmville that was his home north of the highway. Knowing this forest just as well as the inside of his own pocket, he strolled towards the deserted allotment gardens. The genius who set them up did not realize that the people in Balmville did not have the money nor the time or inclination to plant things and watch them grow, so by now nature had started to reclaim the land.

He sat down in the grass with his back against a large stone. From there he could see the small and ugly concrete tool shed with a strangely reinforced metal door, but he would be hidden from anyone who happened to wander by this desolate place. The shed did in fact not contain any tools, but was a storage for the local delivery chain of cocaine in Newburgh. Some fancy lawyer named mr Attens ran it, and Daniel was but a small cog in the machinery, picking up merchandise from mr Attens here and selling it on the streets of Balmville hardly making any profit in the process.

As he sat there and played with the games on his new phone, he heard someone approaching. Quickly he hid behind the stone, just peaking over the top. To his surprise he saw that it was Sheila, mr Attens daughter. Since the bureaucrat who drew the school districts had ignored all social realities on the ground and drawn a geometrically pleasing box with the highway in the middle they had gone to the same high school. The few times Daniel had attended English classes he had spent them sitting behind her admiring the curves of Camilla, Sheilas best friend, while killing the time chitchatting with some of his friends. What the fuck was she doing here now?

His gut feeling telling him that this might be an important moment, he clicked around on the phone until he found the camera function and then started to record the scene without making his presence known to the girl.

 

[TinyThings]

The last straw, had been drawn. Something many would've claimed, was far overdue. But this morning, Sheila's tape was broken. Never, had she imagined it would go that far. Never had she imagined, she'd wear a red cheek, because of her opinions. In polotics and at work, James Attens stood for freedom of speech, and open mindedness. But when it came to his own daughter, he just wanted her to shut the hell up.
Sheila had always been against drugs, and the distribution of these. Both at school, and the few conferences she'd attended with her father, where she'd been expected to speek. He'd always ignored this, thinking it a foolish teenage rebellion, and that she'd help him out when the time came she reached the right age. But no. And when he asked, she practically exploded. Cussing him down, ultimately threatening him. Which lead to a slap across the face, and a counter thread that she feared he'd actually uphold. She'd gone quite, and bent to his demands. But she was far from done.

An empty, but furious expression stared straight out in front of her, as she marched down the road. In her right hand, she carried a large bag, containing something that caused her to tilt slightly, obviously heavy. A few tears was stroking down her red cheeks, silent sniffles exhaling from her. Her mind was racing far too fast, to notice anything around her, so even if he'd passed her on the street, she probably wouldn't have noticed him. Her eyes where burning with a lust for vengeance, and a clear hint of intent. She knew exactly what she was going to do. She'd heard the stories. She knew everything about his little cocaine chain, and the rivalries it entailed. She'd read into the little gang of chinese immigrants, who'd been trying to sell their products in the area as well, and then further into their methods. She would grin with delight, if the pain wasn't too unbearable. She was betraying her father. Going behind his back, and probably creating a lot of problems for him. But she didn't care. Not anymore. In her mind, she was constantly repeating the short phrase: 'Fuck Him'.

Reaching the ragged shed, she stopped for a moment, turning her gaze directly towards it. She narrowed her eyes, before taking a deep breath, and then heading straight for it. She entered the shed, to a place where he'd no longer be able to see her, before opening up the bag. From it she took a few small barrels of gasoline, placing them next to her. Furthermore, she took a few tubes, that she attached to the openings of said barrels, before setting into the two side rooms with each. She proceeded to empty them out around on the floor, and on every single, large box, that she knew contained his products. Equipment. Weights. Money bills. Everything was covered in the thick substance, before ultimately emptying a bit the entré where she'd gotten in. Still, he wouldn't be able to see what she was doing, only observe the shed as she worked.

Finally, she exited the shed several minutes later, carrying the bag in her right hand. She stopped at the end of a small walkway to the shed, where she put down the bag, before standing back up with her back stretched. Her bright green eyes gazed towards the skies, catching the glimpse of a bird. Her eyes followed the animal on it's travels, as her long, lively red curls waved with the wind. To many, a woman like Sheila was quite a catch. Perfect milky skin, only carrying light freckles in some places, to break the perfect nuance of white. Fiery red hair, that cascaded in wonderous curls all the way to just above the middle of her back. She'd just put on something simple to wear today, a pair of tight jeans and a, all things considered, cheap shirt.

When her eyes could no longer follow the bird on it's way, she gave a light sigh, before looking around the area. Even if Daniel hadn't hidden his face and the phone, she still didn't quite notice him, being far from as thorough as she felt she ought to have been. She turned her attention towards the shed again, a small sneer on her lips, as she crouched down over the bag. Again, Daniel would have a hard time seeing what she was doing. But finally, when she stood back up again, he'd see quite clearly what she'd been doing. Out by her side, she held a molotov cocktail, made out of a rather expensive bottle of liqure. And if he'd had the time to do so, he would've probably stopped her, but he'd only be able to see the burning cloth stuffed into a bottle for a few seconds, before it was thrown harshly towards the shed, with a silent scream from Sheila.

A loud clash, followed by a roaring hiss, started an unstoppable force, that soon had the entire shed in tall flames. No body would even be able to get close to it, so intense was the flames, spiking out of every single crack and dent in the concrete and the bordered up windows. Everything was gone. Everything would burn. That, was Sheila's design. And with the reflections of the roaring flames in Sheila's eyes, the fiery redhead observed her work. And finally, she smiled a little.

 

[Adam Edwardson]

'Is that bitch going to steal drugs from her own father?' Daniel wondered as he watched Sheila sneaking into the shed. Had he not been so focused on keeping himself out of sight and the phone steady he would have broken down in laughter. As if it was not ironic enough that the uptight posh girl that preached against drug with an almost religious fever hardly surpassed even by the old pilgrims had a father who was deeply involved in the drug trade, now she was apparently a user herself. This only confirmed a lesson he had learned a long time ago - all rich people are hypocrites.

Daniel himself had never had much money. The few times he did make some real profit from his low level drug dealing he wasted it quickly on luxuries that did not last. His mother worked at a dry cleaner and his father, a Greek immigrant that had loved an American work permit more than his mother, had disappeared when he was just two years old and hadn't given him much more than his foreign sounding last name. And, Daniel had to admit, a light brown skin that looked like it had the perfect tan even in the winter. Plus his height; he was over six feet tall and his quite skinny but somewhat athletic build made him look even taller. His dark, almost black, eyes that his first girlfriend had called mysterious and exotic as well as the black curly, unruly hair that looked like a wild jungle on his head and would not form a descend hairdo even when he cut it short were probably both gifts or curses, depending on the perspective, from his dad. But in terms of providing money or upbringing his father had fallen short, indeed.

After a while Sheila exited the shed. Eagerly he zoomed in with the phone, impressed at how clear the image was, but when he saw the flame from her Molotov cocktail he almost dropped it. What the fuck was she doing? Was she crazy? He wanted to rush up to her and stop her - there were cocaine for more money than he had spend in his entire life in that tool shed - but before he had gathered his thoughts and picked up his dropped jaw she had committed the crime and roaring flames were rising up towards the sky.

He stopped recording - he had more than he needed by now - and walked out from his hideout as casually as he could, trying to hide his chock at what he had just witnessed. He was wearing a pair of baggy, worn out jeans, a pair of sneakers that had been white five years ago when he bought them, and a grey sweat shirt. Clearing his throat to draw her attention to his presence, he said with faked calmness: "That smoke is pretty thick. In a minute or two someone from the Bunker will have seen it and called 911." The Bunker was a particularly ugly and infamous concrete apartment complex not far away. He raised a finger, signalling for her to wait before she ran away or spoke. "But if you run back the way you came you will surely meet all the bored kids from the Bunker who will come here to check out what's happening. So, unless you want more eye witnesses I would recommend you to follow me." With those word he set off in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest, not bothering to look over his shoulder if she was following him or not.

 

[TinyThings]

The emerald eyes of a hurt, furious girl, stared now menacingly into the flames. 'Serves him right', she thought to himself. She nodded a single time with her own success, before raising her right hand to check the time. She still had fifteen minutes to get out of the way, before the police arrived. And that was a generous, short amount of time. Usually, it took the police ages to check out things in the areas close around this, but when ever something happened here, they reacted almost immediately. It would almost be funny, if it wasn't so disgustingly immoral, that the police didn't seem to care about the surrounding area, as much as they did her father's stash of illegal drugs. There where so much suffering in this place, and the main cause of that suffering, contained in the shed in front of her, was the highest valued object there, to the force meant to protect the ones in pain. Her head shook a few times at that depressing thought, the green eyes looking back up at the flames, as she considered moving on.

But just as she did, she heard a sound behind her, causing her to turn her head over her shoulder immediately, the long curly hair waving down her back in the process, covering up most of her face. She felt fear creep up inside her, quickly recognizing the face looking towards her. Her eyes narrowed lightly, as she was about to interrupt him, seconds before he mentioned the people in the Bunker. She hadn't thought about that. She'd only considered the police force's reaction time, and how long she had to get away from that, not the kids in the Bunker. They used these drugs, as well. They where probably as furious, if not even more so, as her father. And with them high on his products, what was the chances of her explaining this to them, and making them believe it wasn't her.
She observed the boy carefully, as he set off towards the nearby forest, her upper brow dancing a few times with a low growl, before she crouched down to pick up the bag, and ran of after him.

She followed him as closely as she could, not being nearly as fast as him. But did she really want to get up close to him? She didn't trust him, and thought him a scoundrel. So why was she following him into the woods? She started slowing down, shouting after him as she did. "Daniel! What the fuck, where you doing back there?" She burst out, still feeling the adrenaline of her crime, pushing through her veins. Had her head been a bit clearer, she would've spoken a bit less provocatively, but in her mind, she was wondering what the odds where, of him just being there. Was he stalking her? Why would he, he was after her friend, not her. Was he.. The pieces where brought together, and she realized what was probably going on, taking a step backwards as she did. He was a dealer. A dealer, or a user, of her father's drugs. He was probably as furious at her, as the kids at the Bunker would be, or her father. Daniel was a no-good junkie, she knew as much, but she never knew he was a dealer for her father. This turned the situation around, and suddenly she'd followed a crook into the 'safety' of the forest.