V i g i l a n t .

      Calls 911

       “This does not mean you’re off the hook.” She mumbled, hurriedly grabbing the chicken from her friend’s grasp. She began to stifle through, fingers getting immediately greasy. Her digits would shove white meat into her mouth, sort of ignoring the other female. 

    “Looks like you need to find one.” Melody usually would sympathize, but being a hard-worker as well as having her food stolen makes her slightly sassy. All her money is well-earned, and all food is for her consumption only.

          “Your hole-- you fill. Don’t make Cam do it. Or anyone else. You owe me KFC.” Melody let out a small groan, placing her hands on her hips. She was going to take a stance. If Cameron were to buy her food-- it’s only because he owes her, this applies to everyone. Do not force your responsibilities onto others.

     Hearing that certain name be uttered by the other, she quickly hung up the phone and stared right into Skylar’s eyes. “I doubt Cam would be happy to spend his money for your mistake. Don’t bring him into this. You dug the greasy filled hole-- now you must refill it with the chicken and potatoes.”

      “Huh? Really? Guess I better call my friends back then--” Mel began to type in her phone once more, probably returning a call to the cops. A deal was made, and already it was broken. Sad. “It’s ringing.”

     “The cops hung up on me and told me to not call again--” Mel sighed, rubbing her temples, resulting in letting Skylar stumble due to no more restrictions. “You owe me five more buckets of chicken and about five containers of mashed potatoes and gravy.”

      “Sky-- I’m on the phone. Please behave.” Even though Melody was smaller than most, she made up for it with some upper arm strength. Once Skylar was close enough, she used her arm to push her back, never even bothering to use her hand for precaution reasons. “Yes. She stole my KFC. Ate all of it. I think she deserves life in prison for this heinous crime.”

      “It was you. Stop lying. I smell your smell mixed with the grease.” Melody swiftly pulled out her phone, dialing a number rather quickly. “Yes, 911-- I’d like to report a crime. Someone stole my KFC.”

      “No-- it was not him.” She examined the KFC bucket, noticing a long strand of hair in it, as well as the scent of the person she was talking to. She was no fool. She spent years perfecting how to tell who stole her food. “It was you--”

    “All my fried chicken and mashed potatoes are gone. Who stole my KFC?”