It’s been another two months so I’ve compiled all the stories (and their respective prompts) that I’ve written over November and December.
Everything had been going fine, tripped alarm notwithstanding. The tripped alarm worked out in their favor as now they could use the emergency exit to move the bags to the van. Cleo and Dixie had a decent assembly line going. Cleo was bagging up sculptures and then tossing the bags out the fire door to Dixie, who in turn tossed them through the open doors of the back of their driver’s van.
“Loving this efficiency, Dixie,” Cleo said. “It’s truly some Henry Ford shit.”
“I know! I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many bags at once,” Dixie agreed. She swung another bag into the van. It landed on the pile of bagged sculptures and made both a crunching and a shattering glass sound. Dixie winced.
Cleo looked up at the sound and gave Dixie an admonishing glance.
Just then, Southern burst into the gallery. He and Nero, their crewmates on this job, were supposed to be in the lobby holding off the cops.
“Nero’s just been killed! We need to leave!” he said.