Damn those wanker bankers who put me in this godawful situation…

As I climb up the guttering pipe that snakes up the red brick house in this lonesome part of the countryside, I contemplate the reasons why I told my friend about my monetary troubles.
Frustration.
Desperation.
Isolation.

But it’s obvious now that I told the wrong person. Cos he’s thrown this crazy plan together to rob the local Mayor of his much-flaunted jewellry.

Yes, I knew this was dodgy. No, I didn’t want to become a petty thief.
But I didn’t have a choice. My family was falling apart and I needed to fix the cracks.

I climb through the bedroom window, feeling the gun tucked into my belt (given to me by my ‘friend’) dig into my thigh.

I look around the room, looking for the jewels, my nerves jangling.

Suddenly, the door creaks!

It opens.

A foot steps through.

I feel my hand pull out the gun that’s not mine and shoot at the person.

I hear the dull thud onto the carpet.

It’s Gary. My best friend. The mastermind behind this…