THE COMB

(A story composed in five minutes on the topic of Dollar Store at the North Carolina Writer’s Network Meeting, April 25th, 2009. Normally, my writing for these rapid fire exercises aren’t worth saving, but I thought this one was worthwhile.)

I had never been in a Dollar Store before. Oh, my, they had so many wonderful things and only a dollar each. I saw a comb that intrigued me – fluorescent yellow and long. Oh, I wanted that comb. I kind of have to have that comb so I pulled my money out of my pocket and counted it - change and change. There was a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and two pennies. I wasn’t good at counting change, but I knew this did not add up to a dollar. I looked around, but no one was paying attention to me. I could grab that comb, and I was sure my pocket was deep enough to conceal it. My mother told me that people that steal, burn in hell. I certainly didn’t want to burn in hell, but I really wanted that comb. I wanted it bad. So I looked around again and quickly put the comb in my pocket.

A voice behind me said, “Trying out that comb young fellow before you buy it?” I turned, and here was this old man standing, leaning against a rack. Where in the world did he come from?

“Yes,” I said, “but it doesn’t fit so well in my pocket so I will put it back.”