Surge.

Yes.
I steal. Efficiently.
And I have never been caught, from grade 5 to this day.

I have a friend (yes, really) who likes to steal crazy and worthless things for the kick of it. Like clocks from classrooms and forks from the canteen. What have you, or your friends, stolen?

It started when the new kid fad was Beyblades in my school. Past the old Digimon shaker toys and Pokemon card games that weren't played properly ("My Black holographic Charizard has 20 more HP then yours hur hur"), the school and it' s pupils have finally come across a completely new and utterly unique game, spinning tops. (/endsarcasm)

Yes, children of all ages (until you were 15) had pouncing upon their new prey, plastic tops with cool edges and stickers. It was like heroin, watching the tops spin in a little arena (sometimes improvised with a shoebox or an ancient Hot Wheels smashing arena), and whoevers top withstood the longest was the ULTIMATE FIGHTING CHAMPION!

I remember when it first started. The fad was slow to come, but as the cartoon rose in popularity on YTV, more and more kids were getting different kinds of BeyBlades and Letting 'Em Rip. There were even advanced techniques, from spinning the top upside down before releasing it or starting on the edge of the box as to not bump into others and lose spin.

So I thought it was my turn. BEGGING my dad for a few days got me a crisp $10 bill, which I took promptly to the nearby convinience store. I see some of my own schoolmates buying their own accessories when I arrive, and I move towards the counter where the shopkeeper has laid out over 9000 different Beyblade tops and wires, spinners and stickers. They're all out in the open because there were so many kids in the store for him to keep taking the tops out of the glass container.

And I fall in love with the majesty of colors.

It was the one, I was sure of it. The insignia was a Wolf, the colors were epic, everything was perfect. I picked up the set and took it to the cashier.

"Hi..um..I want to buy this." I stuttered as I shove the box into the old man's face.

"Ah yes, is nice, no? Okay, let see, is $11.48." He stood there, behind the counter, as I fiddled my thumbs.

Crap.

I had forgotten about tax. When you're a kid, and most of the things you get are bought by your parents, you tend to forget silly little things like tax. My $9.99 BeyBlade now cost me $11.48.

I was in a dilemma. I considered going home to ask my dad for more money, but I had already trodden over a mile of nails to get the sweaty $10 bill in my hand, I wasn't about to go back now. Besides, I didn't want to lose sight of the beautiful BeyBlade.

"I..err..umm..I only have $10 though." I stammer, looking down.
Since I wasn't looking, I'm not sure, but I believe he was glaring at me. Being the Asian Old Man that he is, he says "Sorry then, no sale." and shuts the box, placing it back where I found it down the counter.

I was heart-broken, and angry, and torn. The man couldn't spare a dollar and 48 cents to a 10-year old kid, and I felt as though I deserved that toy. My eyes narrowed. The man stared at me for a few seconds, and then left to assist a few other kids down the aisle.

..Subconscious Disjointing..

It was as though something came over me, something took control of my very limbs and brain, my soul, my guilt. My hands reached towards the box, wanting, grabbing. I tried to stop, but I wanted it so much..my eyes quickly flicked towards the exit, there was no alarm system..

Revisiting Memory..3..2..1..

I was running, I was running, I was sprinting up the hill towards my house. Jumping over bushes, scratching my left hand on a thicket, I made it to my backyard through the crack in the fence.

And in my hands was the small metal BeyBlade box, with the top waiting for me like a mistress inside. It was like a fire that was burning in my hands, the metal box was burning, red hot, scalding, but I kept my grasp. It was my prize. I proceeded to become the 3rd best BeyBlader in my school, before it got old (in a matter of weeks).

After that initial incident, every time I entered a store, my souls stopped. My eyes were slits. I was in predator mode, I searching for something, anything that I wanted, to steal, to take for my own thine horde. I stole small packets of gum, candy, the occasional pocket flashlight or lighter. I stole birthday cards, packs of mints, pens, rings. It was a natural act to me, it was a rush. If I was caught, so be it, it was my own fault.

But I never got caught. I think that is the reason I continue to shoplift today.

Often, I am reminded of there lyrics from You Know My Name – Chris Cornell..

"You can't deny the prize; it may never fulfill you,
It longs to kill you,
Are you willing to die.."

It is an entity to my silence, it is a metaphor of my guilt. I feel none, but I should. This is a bad thing I do, but it's simply so my fun I cannot stop.

~Pir <3