A gloved hand reached through the bodies on the crowded tube
and felt for the pocket. With all the jostling of the journey her hand was able
to slip inside without notice. It withdrew slowly, its treasure hidden in its
fingers. It found sanctuary within the folds of her own coat.
She let out a sudden breath that coincided with jolt as the
train braked for the station. She watched nervously until her unknowing victim
stepped onto the platform and into the sea of departing bodies as a new wave
filled the carriage.
As the doors slid shut and the train stumbled to its forward
motion she let a smile briefly flick across her lips. A fellow passenger
noticing her smile grinned back. She let her eyes drop to the floor and closed
her hand around the little package. As she held it she felt a new hand in her
pocket. It grabbed and squeezed her clenched fist until she winced in pain. It
carried on pressing until her legs began to buckle. She didn’t want to scream,
she couldn’t attract the attention.
She swivelled her head and glimpsed into his eyes. It was
not possible. How could he have done it? He gave her hand a sharp squeeze and
twisted her wrist. As the tears ran down her cheeks she knew, “All
this for an Oyster card,” she weeped.
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