Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: Story must be about a stolen wallet
The Redemption of Brodie Mills
Brodie ran down the back alley, stopping once he was sure no one was following. That had been way too easy. The old man had been the perfect mark; well dressed, the bulge of a fat wallet just begging to be lifted, the owner sound asleep.
Now, alone under the glow of a too dim streetlamp, he examined his prize. Holy Shit he muttered as he looked at what must have been a thousand dollars worth of fifties. He shoved the money into his pocket and continued his examination. No credit cards, not even a gym membership. Just a driver’s license and a scrap of paper with a note on it.
Unfolding the note, he read, “Brodie, this money is yours to distribute as you wish. Keep none for yourself.”
Brodie spun around thinking that he had somehow been caught in a sting operation. There was no one around. He looked at the note again. This time he saw, “Think of this as my gift to you. Accept it and your life will change. Keep the money and your life will continue as it has.” Too many drugs; that must be it. Yet his mind seemed to be as clear as the evening sky.
He ran blindly down the street trying to escape the feeling of being watched. Everywhere he looked, people seemed to be looking back at him. On and on he ran until he could run no more. A newspaper floated by in the wind. The headline read, “Brodie Mills Redeemed!”
He gave up. Walking into the nearest soup kitchen, he put the money into the donation jar and then got in line for his meal.
As he ate his soup, he took his first look at the name on the driver’s license. “God” He suspected as much.
The prompts: Story must be about a stolen wallet
The Redemption of Brodie Mills
Brodie ran down the back alley, stopping once he was sure no one was following. That had been way too easy. The old man had been the perfect mark; well dressed, the bulge of a fat wallet just begging to be lifted, the owner sound asleep.
Now, alone under the glow of a too dim streetlamp, he examined his prize. Holy Shit he muttered as he looked at what must have been a thousand dollars worth of fifties. He shoved the money into his pocket and continued his examination. No credit cards, not even a gym membership. Just a driver’s license and a scrap of paper with a note on it.
Unfolding the note, he read, “Brodie, this money is yours to distribute as you wish. Keep none for yourself.”
Brodie spun around thinking that he had somehow been caught in a sting operation. There was no one around. He looked at the note again. This time he saw, “Think of this as my gift to you. Accept it and your life will change. Keep the money and your life will continue as it has.” Too many drugs; that must be it. Yet his mind seemed to be as clear as the evening sky.
He ran blindly down the street trying to escape the feeling of being watched. Everywhere he looked, people seemed to be looking back at him. On and on he ran until he could run no more. A newspaper floated by in the wind. The headline read, “Brodie Mills Redeemed!”
He gave up. Walking into the nearest soup kitchen, he put the money into the donation jar and then got in line for his meal.
As he ate his soup, he took his first look at the name on the driver’s license. “God” He suspected as much.
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