I walk down the same meandering street I take each and every day. My feet dance across the smooth pavement of the side I always choose to travel on. The opposite side of the street is like a whole other world. The walls are pealing with faded slogans; the bricks are cracked with desertion. My side is much more clean, pristine and new. I prefer things that are shiny and new.
The postman clearly past his expiry date waves his sausage fingers towards me, as he does each day. I jump across a brooding puddle and pass the two middle aged women who own the florist. They bicker and snarl at each other, as they do each day, fighting over the layout of their cluttered stall. Passers-by don’t so much as glance in. I wonder if they even know what it holds. Everything I pass remains the same as always, as though they are stuck on an endless loop of the same dragged out record. Only, on this particular day, the record skips a beat. Something stands out above the relentless sameness. That something is me.
Those who usually pass me each day without noticing cannot help but pause in their usual routine to admire me. Everyone looks in my direction, as my surge of confidence and smug happiness seeps into the monotonous street. Even the bickering women pause to take in my magnetism.
This surge of confidence spreads over every individual surrounding me. And I’m flying. They soon develop the same bounce in their steps, mimicking my outward portrayal of happiness. It becomes a manifestation the further down that street I walk. I’ve set off a powerful wave of confidence and self-satisfaction to everyone in my vicinity.
They see my energy as inspiring, uplifting. Everyone smiles as they pass, giving me that ‘you should be proud of yourself’ gesture. And I am proud of myself. Only they don’t realise why. No one suspects what has put me in such a cheerful disposition on this particular day. They don’t realise that the reason I’m this way, the reason my mood oozes and takes hold of their unsuspecting selves, is not from a genuine good mood nor kind deed. Not even from finally standing up for myself, or proving a point.
And the further I walk down that fragmented street, the more my smug confidence grows as I feel the pleasant weight of two diamonds in my pocket. This is the perfect feeling. The knowledge that I got away with it. The knowledge that the antiques store slowly disappearing behind my back has no indication of what I have done. Nor anyone else for that matter.
They continue to smile and admire me in their blissful ignorance. While I…well, there are many possibilities.
Is that a bank up ahead?
-‘ONLY FOOLS TRUST A SMILE’ By Charmaine Morrison-Mills