Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Eight Minutes Remaining

Eight minutes remaining.

Jonathan wiped the sweat from his brow, chancing a quick look at Julia in the process.

'How many has she picked?' he marveled at the pile of locks in front of the neon-blue haired woman. 'She's got well over double me.'

Jonathan pressed into his work. A slight, clean-cut man, he looked like someone transported from the 1950s. Flick, flick, flick and he'd undone the lock in his hand. His left tossed it into the pile while his right fished for another. He chanced another glance.

'Shit,' he flinched. 'She's just picked two more!'
That was the way of the lockpick club, however, pick fast and be picked --- for semifinals, that is.

Determined, desperate, and in dire need of a miracle, Jonathan prayed a quick prayer. As he finished his silent plea, he heard a faint snap.

"Shit!" This time it wasn't in his head. He looked over to see that Julia had broken her tool.

For a moment, he was overjoyed - his big break! He could catch up while she reset! As he finished the lock in his hands, however, he didn't reach over for a new one.

Jonathan folded his hands over his workspace.

"You got me, we both know it," he said, politely.

The contest was over, five minutes remaining.

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