All That And A Bag Of Crisps
A fanfiction about a short film which, if made, would be a sequel to another short film.
The film this is based on is not my own. It is called "The Cookie Thief" by Toby Leslie and Hugo Currie, and is based on a poem by Sylvia Potts. The film is on youtube under: The Cookie Thief.
She pulled on her green jacket that day, the one she hadn't worn for weeks. Her keys were in the pocket already, one lost item that was then found. She opened the door of her modest London flat whilst juggling a cup of coffee in a recycled wax cup, a handful of bills and her purse. She sipped carefully at her coffee as she descended the stairs, wincing at the taste. Too little sugar. She steeled herself to the taste and pushed her way through the main door and down the steps to the sidewalk, dropping the mail into a mailbox as she went.
On the way to the train station she stopped at Darcy's Grab-and-Go, as usual. One glance at the attractively packaged cookies near the cashier sent a small rush of something warm up her arms and legs. She gave her left arm a shake and reached for a bag of crisps on a shelf at the wall opposite. ₤3.25. She gave a lips-pursed smile to the cashier as she exited the store. Once out on the sidewalk, she realized that the air hummed with the sound of rain pelting the sidewalk. It was a sound she'd heard as early as when she left home, but never actually listened to. Holding her purse over her head, she jogged in that way many of us have seen women in the rain jog through the streets and down into the heart of the London underground.
The street artist was gone, as was the barefoot evangelist. In their stead was a legless woman leaning against a pillar with a bowl in front of her and an accordion player. She passed the coffee shop, Miró, and made her way to a ticket machine. ₤1. She inserted the ticket into the machine and snatched it deftly at the other end. She followed her memory to the Circle Line stop and took a seat. A plump woman, perhaps Indian, sat on her left. To her right, a camouflage-clad teen bobbed his head back and forth to the music in his headphones. Like prairie dogs, the entire crowd stood attentively as the sound of an approaching train grew to a crescendo. She couldn't help but imagine ears perked and whiskers twitching on each and every one of her fellow commuters.
The train came to an ear-splitting halt before them, its doors sliding open. The crowd pushed themselves into the doors, hurrying for seats. She felt herself being jostled from behind and let out a silent gasp to match her cringe as the hand clutching her cup of coffee shot up and dumped the hot, too-bitter liquid all over her front. She quickly hopped on the train and dug into her purse, searching for some Kleenex. A hand appeared from her right, holding the very thing she wanted. She tentatively reached out and took the tissue and as she began to dab the brown stain on her shirt, she looked up nod her thanks.
It was him! The man with the cookies! His eyes looked down into hers, filled with mirth and a kind of apology. He was the one who bumped into her. A sudden rush of warmth flooded her cheeks and she knew she was blushing. Judging by the new shine of flirtatiousness in his eyes, he knew too. She wanted to say she was sorry, sorry for what social breach she had imposed on him the last time they had met, but she knew that it would do little good. Besides, from the way his eyes met her chest, he already forgave her. Something foreign rose in the very chest he was eyeing up, something that felt horrifically similar to desire. But alas, the hand she thought was rising to grasp her breast was holding a second tissue. She took it from him, half-disappointed and half-relieved, and continued to mop up the spill. Soon the stain was dry and there was no drop to wipe away. She nodded her gratitude one more time. He nodded back, the lines of his forehead becoming attractively pronounced. She reached into her bag and pulled out the bag of crisps.
The look in her eyes, she hoped, was aloof and mysterious. She tore her gaze from his face as she tried to open the bag with her nails, her lips curling with the effort. His hand grazed her own as he took the bag from her. She watched silently as he ripped open the bag with his teeth, remembering their last meeting. The rustle of thin aluminium brought her attention back to the package that she was being offered by the man. After taking it back, she pointed the open end back at him. He gave a half-smile and reached into the bag, pulling out what was probably the largest crisp in the bag.