Morbid, much?

JournalWord: Truant

***

There he is. 

A school-uniformed, cocky teenage truant!

He tugs at his striped tie, languidly stopping beside my bush in front of my house.

Acting suspicious, tossing his head back and forth. Faking to flip his hair out of his eyes, he checks around him, making sure the coast is clear.

With a grin, he picks a ripe, heavy blackberry off my bush. He has the audacity to roll the berry over his tongue, cheekily, watching my window as if he knows I hide there.

So smugly self-assured. 

I scowl as he continues picking, stuffing his cheeks until crushed juices spill from his lips and down his chin. 

He finally eats his fill, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the evidence of his thievery before finding my window again and smirking.

He leaves my violated bush, hands tucked into his pockets, a skip in his step at his victory. 

Watching his retreating figure as I have for the last three days, witnessing for the second time his reoccurring theft, I can only smile.

I turn to the clock, grinning before turning back to regard my towering blackberry bush and it's alluring, shiny berries.

The poison has dried quite nicely, I note, counting down the minutes before the chemicals kick in.

***

Just a quick story of just-do's.

(What should I write next? The second part of YGMM, perhaps? You tell me.)

Delightfully,

mera