Writing exercise: 2 perspectives; 1 a thief stealing a fake gold ring and 2 the clerk observing
Novakovich ch5 ex1
This one’s real shiny and I like its look right by it, first time, glint glint goes gold I slip my fingers they go squee squee for fun a glimpse behind the glass, trapped, I press my squee squees against the glass and it’s so cold, cold, not right for one so beauty as you, you sun ring gold. The seller talking coin with some gosso he ain’t gonna miss this sweet this shiny sun ring. You’ll look sweet so on my pinkie pinkie toe I say and she blushes deep deep gold, I lick lips taste of metals of gold, hard gold, praise for gods who wrought such shiny stuff I have it have to have it. Glass goes crack crack smash with hammer squee squees and gold is free, seller shrieks and shrieking. Fingers cold when flesh meets metal, seller shrieking idjit tongue, rat tongue tongue. Save sun ring from glass cages run now with warmth in hand, warmth in hand. Fingers squee squee. Streets full-fumey, push past and gone from glass cages, to glint-gold sun ring fire.
“I assure you every piece of fine jewelry stocked here is truly of the utmost quality, sir. Your spouse or life partner would surely be most fortunate to bear such regality.”
“Ah, well, hm, she does like these shinies.” The mark was drooling – the sale was practically clinched.
The door crashed in with a wail of shattering crystal. An oaf blundered in, wet coveralls and glossy rubber boots. A docksider, or worse, I thought. He squinted at the brilliance of my pieces. My mark was fingering a cheap knock-off Jägan brooch.
“A gorgeous specimen, sir, most rare,” I said, with an eye on the oaf, now pressing greasy fingers against fresh-cleaned glass. He squatted, murmuring to himself, and put his face against the glass, clouding it.
“Can I help you, sir?”
My mark took an uneasy step away.
Suddenly, the docksider threw his fists into the glass, twice, a third time before it shattered, throwing shards and jewels.
I’ll admit, I screamed, so alarming was this scene in my little shop.
“They’re fake, you sewer rat! Fakes!”
He didn’t get it, or didn’t care. The oaf plucked a single gold ring from its ruined display case, and tore through the door into the throngs outside.
My mark gently set down the Jägan he’d been inspecting and walked out, stepping around the shattered case.