Something Worth Stealing

The glass broke at the perfect moment. The pain in an old woman's hip decided to flare up as she leaned improperly on her cane. Half a second, one distressed cry, and the sharp crack of a breaking display case later, everyone's attention in the jewellery store turned.

The automatic alarm system wailed. The man so politely attending you, letting you admire the winter-blue diamond pendant, uttered something louder then he intended and rushed over to help, along with everyone else in the store.

Call it madness, call it impulse, call it greed, but something possessed you to slip the sparkling strings into your coat pocket. It took the time of two breathes to walk out the door. The soft electric jingle went unheard beneath the sounds of cries, apologies, and the alarm blaring overhead. You didn't dare breath until the engine to your car turned over.

A thousand things crackled in your mind by the time you hit the first stop light, none of them good. What did that price tag read again? How many cameras in that store were plainly visible and how many were hidden? How close to home could you get before two dozen patrol cars and one pissed off jeweller ran you down?

By the time the light turned green, these and other thoughts were pushed aside by an image of how stunning you'd look in the red Jovani gown and studded Valentino pumps while sporting those diamonds.

The car filled with half-crazed laughter. You'd almost swear the diamonds laughed along too.

-

Two hours later you slammed the front door to your home shut and quadruple checked the locks, not fully trusting their heavy clanks and clangs. Oh girl, oh you crazy, crazy girl. What fine mad thing have you done now?

Stole something flashy, you thought. Stole something expensive. Stole something pretty.

You fingered the diamonds in your coat pocket, afraid to peek at them until every curtain and shade in the house were drawn tighter than a noose around a dead man's neck.

Blood rushed to your head and fingertips as you laid the coat across the sofa. The hardwood floor clack-clack-clacked in rhythm with your jittering teeth.

The last thing you wanted to do was the thing you needed to do most. Reach into the coat and make damn sure you took what you thought you took. The entire afternoon had to be a delusion -you popped a blood vessel in the brain when that old crone went a-tumbling into the glass case and caused a momentary disconnect with reality. You didn't actually steal those diamonds. That's not you, no, no, no, you never steal anything more than packets of creamer at coffee shops and perhaps the odd restaurant menu if feeling saucy.

Nothing that'd land you in the Steel Bar Resort & Country Club, one year for every dollar that necklace sold for.

Just reach into that coat pocket. Stick those french-tipped fingernails in there and end this little panic trip.

A finger and a thumb trembled on the pocket zipper. And...pulled….

You reached in and pulled out the most gorgeous five diamond pendant you've ever seen and a precious few number of people have ever touched. Even in the sunless, sixty watt light of the living room, they sparkled brighter than mountain lakes on moonlit nights. Your heart forgot to beat and lungs forgot to breathe, but the glimmer and shine of those facets lit your eyes with fireworks. Pale red lips muttered a word that sounded like 'eureka.'

Carrying the necklace as though it may explode, you stole into the bathroom. After locking the door, you turned in front of the mirror and held the necklace in front, marvelling its weightlessness. You brought the necklace across your collarbone and beneath your brown locks of hair. The ends hooked into each other easy as silk gloves onto manicured hands.

Spring breezes blew over your shoulders and the trumpets of jazz bands played. Bubbly wine floated across your nose and bows ran across violins. Were you wearing a dress? The image in the mirror seemed to change with each flutter of eyelashes. One blink, a form-fitting black dress, another, a red number seemingly made of thick, swirling roses worn on nights that played a lot of spicy Latin tunes. Spanish guitars twanged just out of sight.

Oh, what did you steal?

The platinum chain links jingled and sang a little tune as the AC kicked on.

Something worth stealing.

Someone knocked at the front door and you almost fell over backwards and cracked your head on the tub.

The word shit was yelped several times in quick succession as you unhooked the necklace and stuck it beneath several folded towels, trying not to tangle anything.

The police were waiting, wanting to ask some very serious questions. The jewellery store owner stood with a bag of doorknobs. Two guys named Knicked-Tooth Tony and Greg “The Diving Instructor” Clemaine cracked their knuckles. All sorts of people yearned to see you right now. The door knocked again and you almost burst into tears.

Two minutes later you ran back into the bathroom, locked the door, and slid to the tiled ground, trying not to have a heart attack. The damned mail man only wanted the scratchiest signature you've ever made on a letter.

Okay, the necklace was not worth stealing. Grab the thing, stuff it in a plastic bag and haul ass as fast as your '06 Chevrolet could go and return it. Tell them the old woman howling her dentures out and the ensuing brouhaha spooked you, sending you packing out the store and swear-I-didn't-realize-I-took-the-necklace-until-I-got-home. Apologize until the manager got sick and all-but begged you to leave the store, no harm done, please.

Please, please, please, you thought, uncovering the necklace like someone unearthing irradiated waste.

But then the buzzing bathroom light lit the edge of blue facets and panicky thoughts scattered. Breathing steadied because, oh, it looked so lovely…

A trembling finger traced the center diamond and the groove of its fitted silvery piece.

You drew the shower curtain and sat cross-legged in the eggshell white tub, touching the raindrop-cut diamonds, the line of your collarbone.

The jewellery store was far away. You didn't even visit that city all too often. The reason for that day's visit already faded from memory. Could they trace you home? Maybe. Maybe not. Places like that were insured, right? Of course, all big stores that dealt in precious, lovely things kept insurance. People got away with snitching expensive stuff all the time, just look at the news. And it's not like you were the only person in the store. Other people there probably snagged and ran at the opportunity. No telling who you could trust these days.

Much easier just to file the paperwork and call it a day than tracking you down.

A fingertip touched the diamond, then touched the tip of your tongue. A kind of ethereal sweetness reminding you of strawberries teased the buds.

Maybe, just maybe, you could get away with this.

Hiding it was the natural course of action. Wait a few months until the incident faded from the memory of anyone who'd care, then bring it out to wear at any ball and gala you'd please.

Don't mind that you never received invitations to those things before.

You leaned back in the tub, kicked one leg out, touched the diamonds and platinum against your skin, and shuddered as a tingle ran through veins and jolted your heart. Lightheadedness slid you deeper into the tub. A hand slid deeper somewhere else.

-

At three o'clock in the morning, you sat on the couch flipping through channels, thinking of a place to hide your new best friend currently draped across your thigh. The house made for a poor candidate. Far too easy for any snoopers to find any hiding spot you could devise. And what if the place got burgled? Never happened before, but no use in taking that risk now. The bank offered safety boxes, but that was out of the question for obvious reasons.

You changed the channel, something about archaeology. Maybe you could hide it in a tree? No, then a bird may take it for nesting material or do its business all over the silver.

The channel changed again, a show about people digging for gold. Eat it and hide it in your stomach. No, buffalo wings roughed up your tummy enough, no telling what damage jewellery would inflict.

You hit the remote one more time and saw Muppet Treasure Island. Seeing man and puppet dig into the sand showed a simple solution. It could only be done in the middle of some big nowhere. You'd need to buy a shovel, of course. Along with a pair of gloves.

Oh dear, you're going to get awfully dirty in the next few days.

-

Two days later you trudged through a forest with a bulky duffel bag bouncing off your shoulder. Mosquitoes nibbled your forearms and ankles griped when stepping over each bumpy log and uneven rock. This place was not your natural element, despite the abundance of nature. Just as well, no one would suspect you'd come out here for any reason. That suited your purposes just fine, but still, you wore the exact wrong type of shoes for this business.

The sun shone high over the tree canopy. You weren't too sure what to look for. Someplace unassuming, someplace secluded, that much at least. It was hard to judge how far to hike before considering a place to bury your secret joy. No point in digging out a hole only five minutes walking distance from your car.

You didn't spend a lot of time trudging before deciding that trudging sucked. But not even the dull ache in your calves stopped you although sore heels slowed things a little. The precious blue baby in the duffel bag needed putting to bed, and intuition said the cradle was a far way off.

Although the grit building on your cheeks and sweat beading into your eyes made strong arguments for turning around and scrapping the whole plan.

Instead of about-facing, you half-collapsed against a the trunk of a tanoak tree. A hand unzipped the duffel bag and you pulled out a water bottle. You twisted the cap off and guzzled, ignoring the lukewarm drops running down your chin.

Eyes closed, head pressed against green-brown bark, you said this affair was nothing. Easiest thing ever. You could do this all day, ignoring that this was in fact what you've done all day.

And the toll of all that doing came to collect when you fell asleep on the dirt and leaves.

For a little while you moved far away from the sunlit forest. Instead you went somewhere with polished floors and high vaulted ceilings. Paintings hung on the walls, and not the kind bought for cheap at Wal-Mart to pretty up bathrooms and hallways. Music played in the air and servants with trays of delicious, unpronounceable foods marched this way while people decked in well-tailored, extravagant clothing twirled that way.

Handsome men and beautiful women laughed, dipped, and glittered beneath candle lights and chandeliers. But none glittered quite like you.

In a ballroom of ballrooms you touched the stars draped around your neck.

Someone from behind asked to dance and just as you turned to extend a gloved hand, thunder cracked. Awareness flung you back to the forest floor, but wet this time.

A groan mixed with horror and disappointment escaped your lips. Bug-bitten legs pulled towards your chest and panicked hands dug into the bag, looking for a coat because you were at least smart enough to bring that, right?

After several seconds of disoriented rummaging, it turned out you were that smart.

You zipped the bag before too much rain water snuck in and ruined it's precious holdings. You clutched it close to the chest and ran deeper into the forest without paying attention to direction.

Ill-conceived could not begin to describe the entire venture. The sky overhead clapped in accordance with your suspicions. This was not a good idea. Huffing every cleaning product beneath the sink would have better outcomes than the one you found yourself in.

So why not drop the necklace under an ant-pile and head home?

Something inside the bag cried loud enough to make you slip over the mud. You shook your head, then shook the bag, confusion plastered all over your face. No more noise. Only the sound of your brain losing its bolts, that's all.

There. Going insane, that explained everything. The world seemed sensible a few days ago, right? Well, perhaps not, there was that weird spat of bizarre weather and disappearances that dominated the news a few weeks ago. But that was part of the larger world, not your world. Not the nine-to-six, ignore the check engine light, and definitely don't steal jewellery breed of world that you comfortably existed in.

The forest lit up in tall shadows and beads of rainfall. You jolted away.

Branches tripped you. Shrubs scratched your knees. Pits and uneven mounds would advise slowing the hell down if they could talk, but water clogged your ears to near-deafness.

An oh-so sensible voice asked that you stop, please. No diamond, jewel or buried treasure in the world is worth a third of this nonsense. Go home, just go home.

No. No, you have to keep going, said another voice that didn't quite sound like you.

But listen anyway! Those lovelies won't ever be safe if you go home. They'll only be safe here, beneath the shadow of trees. Somewhere here, far beneath roots and soil, where not even the sun can spot their glimmer. Somewhere only a digger can reach.

You grit your teeth and moved like iron fillings towards an unseen magnet.

Feet tracked through mud and scratches accumulated on your shins. Rain dribbled down the jacket's flimsy hood, bouncing against your nose and eyelashes. You didn't wipe any off because that meant taking a hand away from the bag.

For hours you walked and tripped and nearly twisted both ankles several times. Uphill, downhill, through brambly ravines and slippery creeks.

Exhaustion would've dropped you if a knot of branches and outcropping rocks on a hillside didn't catch the lightning and draw attention. You sloughed towards it, still wondering what the hell you were doing.

Hunched and dripping, you stared at the tangle of weeds and stone, sticking out the side of a hill like a hairy boil. Lightning crackled and split the sky apart, making you jump and lose your balance enough to fall into the tangle.

The branches weren't the strongest and snapped easily, but slowed your fall so that hitting the threshold of the disguised opening didn't cause much pain.

You panted on the soaked dirt and noticed the rain stopped hitting your head. Hands reached out and felt a rough ceiling of dirt and roots. You laid back, feeling like a car wash rag, dirtied and soaked.

After a minute of catching fleeting breath, you turned onto your stomach and felt ahead. The little dugout extended deeper into the hill. You dragged further inside and escaped the rain entirely.

Even in the dark, you could sense the tunnel sloping downwards. You opened the bag and pulled out a rinky-dink flashlight. Shining it around showed dirt, roots, and more dirt, along with a few crawly things best left ignored. But it also showed the tunnel extending a fair ways further. The tunnel opened up some, at least large enough for someone to crouch-walk.

A rain-soaked smile spread on your face. You never felt so glad to see a grimy hole in your life. This looked perfect.

Wiping your face and taking a deep breath, you shimmied into the tunnel. The incessant beat of rainfall outside grew muffled.

After crawling for several long minutes and spitting out dirt, you reached the end of the tunnel.

Once more you reached into the bag and pulled out the carefully packaged pendant. You unwrapped several layers of cloth and string and saw they remained safe. The cheap dollar store flashlight did not diminish their radiance. A moment ago you felt fit to go into a coma but there beneath the dirt, a burst of energy flowed.

How could anyone not grow giddy looking at those jewels? Holding those five lovely cuts of earth made perfect after millennia of heat and pressure. Purpose narrowed your brow and you wrapped the diamonds, put them back in the bag, and pulled out a small hand shovel.

You've dug before, although the bulk of that experience consisted of backyard gardening. The warmth from the jacket caught your attention. After digging, you'll probably boil with the thing on. Sleeve by sleeve, you took off the jacket and placed it to the wayside in a folded pile, promising to come back for it.

Studying the end of the dugout, you wondered the whole thing would collapse at the first pick drawn. You shrugged, filled with blind, half-crazed determination and shoved the hand shovel up to the hilt and pried out the first wad of dirt.

You could not imagine how many more would come.

All That Glittered

Dirt crunched over and over. Soft soil came away easy enough, but there was so much. Dirt caked your hands. It looked like you sported brown gloves that dissolved into speckles past your elbows. Wiping away sweat only left dirtied smears on your forehead.

The muffled patter of rain reached into the tunnel. You may be filthy, but at least a roof stood overhead. More earth crumbled across your knees as the shovel moved dirt from one place to another.

The hearty burn of work toasted your shoulders. The plan somehow felt manageable now that you were in the grit of it. Dig for a while, tuck the lovelies away, and go home to the greatest, steamiest shower plumbing can provide.

After realizing how far your arms stretched out, you scooted closer to the curving wall.

Sure, finding the way back to the car was going to take a while, but that'd be peanuts compared to the craziness you went through. The peace of mind, knowing those five little gorgeous droplets were tucked away nice and secure justified the thorough soaking alone.

You stopped for a breather and patted the bag, and almost heard them jingle inside.

Smiling, you turned and thrust the shovel and almost fell forward. The wall moved back almost out of reach. But you moved closer just a moment ago, right? There's no way you dug that far in so short a time. Or did you lose track of time?

Moving ahead on your knees, you frowned a little and began digging again.

And in no time you needed to scoot forward once more.

You dropped the shovel and flexed your fingers. They cramped, but didn't burn. Maybe the repetitive nature of the work carried a hypnotizing effect. Simple toil whittled time down to nothing.

Rubbing your wrists, you decided not to question a bone tossed your way. Ease of work only meant you could go deeper than you thought. The deeper you dug, the safer the necklace would be.

And so you let your mind drift and arms work. The metal scooped brown clods away and that's all that mattered. You moved forward when you had to, took a break when you felt like it and only turned around to make sure the bag didn't trail behind.

Dig, dig, dig some more. How did the song go? The one the seven dwarves sang? You tried whistling while you worked, but your lips felt stiff and whistling was never your forte. You settled for humming instead.

The unsuspected pep in your mood hit a snag as the shovel handle split. The sharp, sick snap of wood separating from its metal cover made your stomach drop.

No problem, you lied to yourself as you shined the weak flashlight over the broken tool. Clean splinters stuck out of the shovel head. You threw the now-useless handle behind you, not noticing the small rattle it made as it hit the wall. Turning the shovel head over showed no flaws. You huffed. Don't get cheap on equipment used to bury loot. What a lesson to learn.

With both hands clutching the head, you pierced the dirt. Not as easy with a handle, and not quite as deep. You pulled it out. Definitely not as easy with a handle.

The dirt didn't fall so much as dribble. Frustration grew as efficiency waned. Ineffectual crunches nagged the ears and itchy, brief showers of earth fell on your knees. You grunted and stabbed the wall again and again, cursing until you threw the shovel head away and clawed at the dirt with bare hands.

Fingers slid into the soil and tightened. Fistfuls of dirt came out. Two at a time, one after another. You pressed deeper into the cool ground, past the knuckles, past the wrists, grabbed tight and flung the dirt away. Again and again, pound by pound. Your head shook, spilling hair over your eyes to help keep the detritus out.

Your chest rose, breathing faster to dig faster. In no time you fell forward on your hands because there was nothing more to pull away. There you stood on hands and knees, panting but still ready to go.

Black dirt caked not only your nails, but forearms and elbows. That's to say nothing of the shirt and pants you wore. Dirtied, sweat-ridden denim clung to your skin. Hands wiped the front of your shirt, only moving dirty around.

A giggle echoed in the tunnel. You haven't been this filthy since, what? Grade school? Maybe that river rafting trip you and some friends took how many years ago? Lots of muddied banks slipped on that weekend. Didn't help that you had a bottle of Dos Equis in hand most of the time.

You put the memory aside and cracked your knuckles. The pop took you by surprise, like a bell saying break time's over. You leapt, wait, was it a leap? Either way, you took to the end of the tunnel with vigour.

Once again you fell into a hypnotic rhythm. Knowing that nothing but earth existed above, behind, below, and before you carried a calming effect. Visions and movement drifted in front of you, images not of dirt-covered hands.

Chandeliers glowed again. You glided across a vast floor made for dancing and twirling dresses. Crystal high heels clicked on the floor with the clarity of ice in a champagne bucket.

People danced. Well dressed people. People with golden watches, steel brooches, emerald ear rings and bracelets studded with rubies that looked sweeter than cherries. They all twinkled beneath candles and the cool silvery moon shining through high-arched windows framed in golden lattice.

Lovely, lovely, oh so lovely. A hand reached out to touch one, a lapis, an amethyst, a heart-cut diamond, anything. You saw the hand belonging to you, black-clawed and big enough to carry all the lovelies in the room.

A gasp pulled the image away easily as clean-pressed tablecloth. No more candlelight, just a cheap flashlight powered by a pair of triple-a's. You looked around and saw only dirt. You looked at your hands.

Covered in dirt, but still your hands. Looking a bit swollen, perhaps, but you have been at this for…

You rubbed your wrists. How long have you dug already? Not too long, right? You shined the little flashlight behind you and the beam showed recently churned earth as far as it could reach. Granted, that wasn't far, but nothing that could be done in any short time. Even if it had passed easier than anticipated.

The flashlight clicked off. You leaned against the tunnel wall and felt a ball of unease roll in your stomach. Maybe you've done enough work for the day. Get some sleep and go back at it tomorrow.

Tomorrow, really? You blinked in the dark and wondered if you sincerely intended to sleep in a hole in the damned ground. How many more feet can you tunnel away?

The necklace would be perfectly safe right here. Just pat it down good and easy, crawl back up, and put a bow on the job. Wouldn't you rather sleep in a bed tonight? Or at least in the back seat of your car?

Slowly, and to your surprise, your head shook no. No. You haven't dug anywhere near deep enough. It won't be safe. Not yet. It deserved to be tucked away deeper.

Hands poked around the bag in the dark and pulled the necklace out of its wrappings. They sparkled even in the dark. You cradled the necklace close to your chest. Peace reached into you, saying it's okay to fall asleep in a hole. After wake, you can pick up where you left off.

Stroking the center gem helped you sleep.

-

The excavation proceeded at a wild pace. You reached into the earth with wide swipes, pulling dirt away and packing it tight beneath you.

A moment of worry fell on you when waking. A pair of pale tree trunks replaced your forearms. You flexed the thick fingers poking from their swollen ends and snorted in surprise.

Not that it should surprise you. You hauled down how many pounds of dirt barehanded yesterday? Of course those limbs would do an award winning sausage impression.

The fact that you easily saw them in darkness passed unnoticed.

Instead you pressed a finger into the top of a forearm. You expected to feel a warm water balloon, but felt muscle that could be mistaken for petrified wood. The entirety of your arms attained similar solidity. Fingertips went from wrists to elbow to shoulders, feeling skin stretched over rock and blood vessels.

Your knuckles cracked and a small avalanche sounded in your hands. Nothing hurt. Nothing felt sore. The nails at the end of your formerly slender fingers looked thick and black. Not dirt-black, but volcanic-rock black, and shining even in the dark.

Nails that could pierce deep into the ground, making it easier for strong arms to tear it all away.
And that's what you did.

The work felt invigorating and engaging, but loneliness pressed in. Even though solitude was the point for coming out here in the first place, you've only had the acquaintance of the dark and the dirt for a while now.

Five little lovelies in close reach jingled, reminding you they were still there, and so glad to see you working hard to keep them safe.

Don't get greedy. Be glad for what you have. If anyone else came down, they'd know. They'd know you stole and know how far down you went to keep what now belonged to you. Worse than knowing, they'd take everything away and you'd never see us again.

Be smart, girl. Be smart and dig, dig dig.

The digging continued alone.

But content as you felt, the mind still wanders when alone. Inner voices chatter inwardly in the shower. The brain prefers disappearing into itself while stuck in traffic. The weaselly thing resorts to tricks laying in an empty bed and staring at the ceiling during early hours.

And so many tricks danced around down in the hole you've made for yourself.

The ballroom, you thought. The one that sparkled elegance across every square inch, the one you'd never get into without the pendant settled on your collar. Didn't the moon used to shine through the window? Why was it covered in dirt and roots tonight?

More than dirt, actually. Clay layers and sediment bands of sepia and mahogany. The earthly colors waved over the glass in much prettier ways than night skies.

No one else in the room seemed to think otherwise, they only danced and danced.

You touched the necklace and didn't flinch at the sight of your enlarged arms. Although the fact that your gown split at the shoulders and waist raised a little concern. Also the mud splashed on the bottom of the dress clashed with the dark fabric.

And those shoes felt very tight.

Someone said you looked lovely tonight and all concerns scattered. Someone else, a woman dressed in yellow slid near, complimenting your pendant and said she never saw anything approaching its beauty. A man nearby agreed, and said its wearer looked even more enchanting.

You blushed and thanked him, stroking the necklace one more time, just in case anyone grew presumptuous and tried to touch it…

Something shiny entered your vision. A bracelet strung with snow-white pearls swung in front of you, held by a violet-gloved hand belonging to a violet-dressed woman. The bracelet sparkled with the sweetness of sugar and snow.

Try it on, go ahead, take it, the people around you said. Go ahead, bet it looks ravishing on you. No one here could do it justice. It belongs to you. Take it take it.

The moment your leathery fingers touched those clean pearls, lightning ran from their tips, to the nape of your neck, making you shiver as the chilling sensation slid down the spine and towards another pearl entirely.

The volume of your groan pulled you back down the hole where your broad hands splayed against a cold surface. Progress on the tunnel stalled as you daydreamed.

You huffed and explored the impasse, pulling dirt away from the surface, nosing the rough texture, licking it and not finding it distasteful.

Stone. Not a clutch of pebbles, but a solid layer of rock. Your nails prodded a few times then raked long, deep scratches into it. Growls escaped your throat and you swiped it one more time, drawing sparks that stung your eyes.

A fearsome thought intruded. What if you couldn't dig through this? All your hard work could come to an end right here at a place not deep enough to guarantee the safety of those five little lovelies.

Confused whimpers echoed as you shifted from one end of the tunnel to another.

Not here, not after you've come so deep! You didn't run through the rain and nearly get struck by lightning for some igneous upstart to stop you with its tectonic bullshit.

The heart in your broad chest thumped. Blood vessels rose along your temple. Long teeth bared themselves, showing white against lips rapidly losing their soft-red color. Rumbling growls replaced the whimpers.

Fingers tightened into a fist large enough to dent car doors. Your legs widened, left shoulder reared back and fired forward at the start of a snarl and ended with a thunder that boomed all the way to the surface.

The rock cracked in a circular spider-web. Splinters of stone hit the tunnel floor, but not nearly enough to satisfy. You growled again. That punch felt good, but you could damn well make it feel great.

After a moment's thought, you tore off both shoes that were split along the heel anyway. The shoelaces already snapped on their own a while ago.

Gray toes and blackened nails flexed. Black-padded soles found solid purchase on the cold ground as you wound back tighter than industrial coils.

The tunnel shook once more. The stone buckled. Thunder landed in furious succession, pulverizing rock into pebbles and powder. Each hit sent sharp sparks bouncing harmlessly off your legs.

The echoes of shattering earth drowned out the sound of fabric and denim stretching to its limits and tearing across bulging muscle.

You didn't notice, even if you did, you wouldn't give a damn. Progress was at hand, or rather at fist.

Progress continued, one punch at a time. Strike after blow, punch, and a headbutt or two, without end or break until your fist struck a moist layer of mahogany clay and got stuck.

After pulling the hand out, you examined the clay. Fingers carved out a small recess. Solid, yet yielding. Cool, and almost entirely airtight, if shaped correctly. The hand dangled to your side. You fell on your haunches, tongue hanging out and steam almost rising off your bulky shoulders.

A tired paw went to wipe the dirt off your snout and traced the hard, toothy formations jutting up from your lip line. Your jaw snapped once and clacked twice, once from the outer teeth and once from the inner set.

With a tired groan, you turned onto all fours and crawled across the hot ground towards the five little lovelies. You cradled them with surprising gentleness in your ungainly, black-padded hands. Coolness spread through your tips while touching them. All five beads sparkled in the dark, as if windows to a sun-covered ocean.

Your nose brushed over them. The tip of your tongue slid from one sweet, sublime facet to another. You shuddered, almost regretting the diamonds being too precious to eat whole.

“I think,” you said in a voice rougher than dirt and sturdier than rock, “that's deep enough.”

The diamonds jingled in their platinum cradles. Thank you, they chorused, thank you so much. We love you, we do, it's true!

Their praise shook your elbows with joy. A tail whap-whapped against the dirt with some effort, as solid barbs sticking from its clubbed end kept sticking in the ground.

Your body lowered, circling the ground, pawing the dirt into a soft mound as your clubbed tail drew a protective ring to lay in. The pendant pressed tight against your chest as you whispered love and sweet, sweet nothings that made you feel good. Thick, rough fingers moved through the dirt on your stomach and between solid thighs.

They circled the gem there and slid into the mine, finding its own special kind of gold.

Mounting moans wafted along the tunnel walls and the last, listing reverb sounded suspiciously like 'eureka.'

-

The chandeliers clinked against each other. The candles all blew hushed because their light was no longer needed.

You lay on top of every earring, bracelet, brooch, tiara, cuff-link, and studded pocket watch in the ballroom. Precious eighteen-karat things draped over your shoulders. Gold and silver vines ran rings around your ankles. Chokers graced your throat. Rings stacked upon the brutish, fang-like struts lining your snout. The mountain of polished surfaces and refractions made its own light, pure and myriad. Bright and cool.

All that glittered belonged to you.

A paw dipped below a golden hoard any dragon would kill to lay on. When it emerged, gem encrusted rings adorned the digits from the swelled knuckles upwards.

God, you felt beautiful.

No one danced. Everyone stood along the darkened walls, staring in quiet awe. To entranced to think and too frightened to move. You sneered at the lazy lot, standing around when they could be working, digging around for more pretty gems. Someone ought to crack the whip at the ugly things. Maybe you should do it.

But later. You yawned and stretched over the twinkling treasures. This working dog already ran herself ragged for the day.

-

After waking from the nap, you hollowed out a section of clay. You took more care than strictly necessary, aligning the pendant in a graceful splay across a tiered shelf that no one but you would ever, ever see. What would the point be, otherwise?

Husked goodbyes and see-you-laters were exchanged. Pulling away seemed to take as much will as coming down there in the first place.

But it's okay. It'll only be goodbye for a little while. We'll be fine down here, you made sure of that. It's safe for us. Maybe safe for a few others as well -brothers and sisters, think of that!

You sealed the hollow and spent the next several hours carefully collapsing the far end of the tunnel with an expertise most people spend years and a lot of scholarship money to obtain.

The newly fashioned end of the tunnel would raise no suspicion. After some consideration, you made several false offshoots to raise confusion in case any snoopers ventured down this far. They took no real time to make, and only brought further peace of mind.

Trekking back up the tunnel took considerable less time than the journey down. You didn't stop for much, only sniffed at shreds of your shirt and pants and toyed with the flashlight left behind. The weak glow offended some exacting and uncompromising part of your mind. You snapped it in half and crumbled the cheap plastic into twiggy bits.

Further in the tunnel, you found the muddied jacket discarded earlier. A part of you still liked how easy napping came while wearing it, so you slung it over your shoulder and continued.

You worked to widen the tunnel as you neared the surface. The tunnel's start was little more than a crawl space, and the tight squeeze grew irritating.

Rain still fell in the forest. The patter made its way deep into the tunnel. Did the downpour continue this entire time? Perhaps it stopped and started over the course of however many days you spent down there.

Days. Did you spend days down there? Time grew nebulous in the dark. A foggy light shined ahead.

The hillside patchwork of roots and leaves broke as a snout pressed out. Clumps of grass and dirt rattled apart as a beast exited that looked entirely unlike the girl who entered.

Cold water splashed the top of your head, now absent of brown hair that dropped below the shoulders. You shuddered as rivulets ran down your neck and across the muscles lining your back.

Head raised and mouth open to the grayed sky, cooling rainwater fell through two sets of teeth and down your throat. Each drop contained the heady scent of minerals.

Heavy paws drew over your face then wiped away the worst of the mud and powdery remnants of stones from your shoulders and teardrop breasts on your heavily barrelled chest. The dirt washed easily enough from the thin layer of muted smoke-blue fur covering your body.

The cold air and rain felt nippier than you'd care for. You unslung the jacket and ripped off the sleeves, knowing they'd have no hope to contain the tree trunks hanging off your shoulders now. By a minor miracle it still fit like a glove, or a rubber glove at any rate. The clothing looked less at jacket and more a tight-fitting vest.

You walked to a puddle with a heavy gait. A passer-by would think an animal so top-heavy shouldn't walk on two legs, but wouldn't have the nerve to say so.

The rippling puddle surface reflected a vicious set of jaws set below a pair of piercing green eyes. Short pointed ears stuck up from the flattened skull. You licked the toothy growths sticking out of your blackened lip line.

You looked hungry and felt hungry, but flesh didn't entice you. Too soft. Not enough lustre. No, no, no, you wanted hard, precious things that glittered and lasted forever. Compressed and refined beauty, polished to shine brighter than stars. You'd drag all the stars out of the sky and keep them to yourself, if you could. And you packed enough wallop that not even all Knicked Tooth Tony's in the world could stop you. Let them try.

No need to wait for old ladies to create distractions. No point in looking at pretty things in magazines and online catalogues. You sure as hell didn't see the point in walking into brick and mortar stores just to look, maybe touch for a few seconds only to worsen an itch too expensive to scratch.

There's nothing in the world that you couldn't pick up and take. Nothing in the ground that you couldn't sniff out either. Those paws, dripping with dirt and rainwater, could pry out every precious stone hidden in the planet, no matter how deep they had to dig.

So what if you looked like pitbull wrapped around a gorilla? The world had a place for hunting dogs, rescue dogs, guard dogs -you'd gladly grab the torch as the world's first diamond dog.

The thought sent your clubbed tail splashing against the soggy ground.

You straightened as much as you could and slapped the water off the dribbling corners of your jacket. Even through rain, the wind carried the smell of sweet, sparkling things to your snout. Gems, diamonds, crystals, rubies, all things worth having. All things worth stealing.

Call it greed, but it made your heart fly as you leapt through the rain.