The Forecourt

5. The Forecourt - Jared

I'd been scraping by on two euro credit for the last few days, cursing myself for not finding the time to top up. I know now that it was preordained that I would be at the petrol station at this time.

It was dark for such an early hour, and the place was quiet quiet as I crossed the forecourt, between the four seperate petrol pumps, where the only customer was a shaky old guy who was slowly but surely feeding the hose into the open fuel cap.

The shop was just as quiet. Georgia was the name of the girl who worked this shift. She used to babysit me, I think. She was behind the checkout, carefully pretending to arrange boxes of chocolates neatly on the shelves.

Her eyes popped when she looked at me.

"Hi there," she said.

I asked her for a top-up. She smiled and turned away from me to get it. I glanced out the shop window, into the brightly lit-up forecourt. The old man was now squinting at the meter to see how much petrol he'd taken. Beyond him, at the next pump, a figure was stooped, trying to lift something.

I double-glanced as the leaning figure scooped a handful of brown hair over her back, and glanced nervously in the direction of the shop.

"Twenty euro please."

I looked in shock at Georgia. Her eyes were fixed on me; she didn't notice the activity outside.

"Sorry," I stammered as I fished the money out of my pocket and paid her. I glanced back out to the forecourt.

The old man was lowering himself into the driver's seat of his car, and the stooping figure was now upright, and was leaving the forecourt.

"Bye," I said quickly, as I scurried out of the shop and crossed the forecourt again, and stared after Blaze as she made a getaway with her drum of stolen petrol.

The End

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