Folk and crafty or die!

[proficient]

He spit in his left hand and rubbed the dice in his hands.
“Ewww,” clicked Bird, “that’s gross!”
Bear laughed and eyed up the perfect spot to throw the dice. “C’mon lucky seven. Don’t fail me now!”
Fox sat on the pavement and twiddled her thumbs as she waited for her turn. She laughed at Bird and smiled as Bear tossed the pair of red and white dice. The dice appeared as red rubies as they sped through the air. The bright white of the etched numbers glistened in the pseudo sunlight. With a small thud the dice struck the alley wall and fell to the ground below.
“Eight!” clicked Bird as her tiny head twitched to the left.
“Ha!” exclaimed Fox, “that’s what you get for spitting on the dice!”
Bear put his hands in his pockets and slumped his shoulders, “No fair!”
Bird picked up the common money and ran down the alley toward the shops. “I’m gonna buy a can of Zaz!” she clicked her melodic voice chirping in the backdrop of the commons.
“Hey, I want some too!” cried Bear as he chased after Bird.
A tiny hand picked up the red dice carefully put them in the side pocket of her black jump suit. Fox stood in the alley and watched her memories run past her. Her own child hood self ran directly into her and passed through her adult body. Fox felt a warm sensation and reached into her side pocket. She cradled the red dice that resided inside her fuzzy pocket. She followed her memories to a small shop on the corner and sat down near Bear and Bird. The two argued over the can of Zaz and as Fox sat down the memories faded into the stale air of the commons.
“How can I help you?” asked a shop worker.
Fox sat at the counter and fiddled with the dice in her pocket for a moment longer. Her face held a blank expression.
“Hey lady I don’t got all day,” said the worker. His bearded face glared at Fox. He straightened the nit cap he wore to cover his unkempt hair. The worker placed his pockets in his vest jacket and asked again, “either buy something or get lost!”
Fox snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the worker. “I’ll take a can of Zaz please.”
“One Zaz coming right up,” said the worker as he reached under the counter and handed a cold can of Zaz to Fox, “hey, are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost?”
Fox studied the worker and noticed a postcard half hidden by a Work Every Day Literature. The worker glared to the side and pushed the literature over the contraband. “Hey, um that can is on the house,” said the worker as he nervously took a step back.
Fox opened the can and took a long drink of the carbonated mixture. “Thanks,” said Fox.
“Ya, sure thing,” said the worker nervously pushing the elder issued literature back behind the counter, “Hey look your not going to say anything about that? I can’t lose this shop. It’s all I have.”
Fox took another drink of the Zaz and leaned back on her stool. She could see fear in his eyes. Fox reached her hand forward and grabbed the worker by the chest and pulled him close. She could feel his breath on her lips. With her other hand she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him over the counter. The worker put up little resistance. Fox dragged him by the collar and rolled him into the alley. The children playing dice scattered and Fox and the worker were alone. She stood above the worker and proceeded to pick him up by his vest. Fox pushed him back then socked him in the stomach. He doubled over in pain. She punched him again in the face and could hear his jaw bone snap under the force of her fist. The worker fell to the ground writhing in pain. Fox walked back to the shop and grabbed the piece of contraband from behind the counter. Fox held the postcard above the worker and grabbed a lighter from the front pocket of the jumpsuit. The worker reached out his hand and tried to talk but his words came out garbled from his broken jaw. He watched helplessly as the eager flames from the lighter licked the postcard. Fox dropped the burning paper on the man’s chest. Thoughts of her mission and Bear filled her mind and she began kicking the worker. Blood erupted from his mouth as her kicks landed home each one harder than the last. Fox could feel his ribs breaking but she continued her assault. Fox paused for a moment then gave one final kick to the worker’s head. His arms flinched and his body shook as his last breath escaped his lungs. As Fox walked away from the body of the worker the last bit of the postcard burned and the flames jumped to the worker’s vest. His body erupted in flame and lit up the back alley of the Commons. Fox cracked her knuckles and headed toward her quarters.

copyright nov 1 2011
I wrote myself into the story as a worker. RAW-MEANS UNEDITED BY ANYONE THAT I CARE ABOUT http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrpiM2oKTLI&NR=1