The Lemonade Stand Larceny

The Lemonade Stand Larceny

It was an odd day for the residents of Windbrook Drive. By odd, I mean busy. Busy wasn’t common for the people here. They were older, most of them retired or close to it. These residents who were accustomed to the routine of quiet, were startled when the cars that usually flew down Route 20, were veering onto Windbrook Drive.

They were pulling over for my family’s yard sale.

There were baby swings, toys, and clothes to rifle through. The TVs, computers, and kitchen appliances were set up for any passenger’s scrutiny. The amount of foot traffic rose as steadily as the sun in the sky.

My parents weren’t the only ones profiting. The sun brought not only business, but also late summer heat. It beat down on both surveyors and purchasers. My sister and I have always been a cunning duo. I set up the stand and she grabbed the lemonade. Before we knew it, our piggy banks were stuffed full with change. Ariel and I couldn’t believe it! But it was growing more and more difficult for us to man the booth...

Before she and I could make a plan of action, two older girls approached our stand. We quit squabbling immediately. Mother had always told us that whenever we fought, we sounded like seagulls squawking over a stray potato chip.

Besides, as Dad always said, a happy customer is a paying customer. Behind closed doors, my sister was as sour as a lemon. However, there was nothing Ariel was better at then making people happy.

“Would you like to purchase some lemonade?” My sister asked in the most sweet tone one could expect of a four-year-old. I was rather sure that everyone within earshot instantaneously sprouted cavities.

“No thanks,” one of the girls curtly replied. She hastily continued, “but we’re here to offer a business proposal.”

Neither Ariel nor myself had seen these girls before, so we were quite the skeptics. Although, they were able to see past Ariel’s sugary facade. That was something to marvel at.

So, I leaned forward, interlacing my hands together on top of our stand. “What is this proposal you speak of?”

This time, the other girl spoke. “My friend and I here, we’ve run our fair share of lemonade stands. To put it simply, we’re professionals in this matter. If you guys want, we can help you out. All we want in return is a share of the profits.”

I looked over to my parents who were struggling to serve the onslaught of yard-sale goers. They were too busy to be able to help. My grandma and grandpa were chatting up a storm with Carol, the trailer park owner who had allowed us to do the yard sale in the first place. Our grandparents were out of this too.

For the first time, I noticed the girls. They were older, taller, and looked like fourth graders. The girls even had a twinkle in their eyes, like they had known my answer before I could even ponder it in the first place.

Begrudgingly, I painted my face with a smile and said, “We’d love to have your help!”

I was lying through my baby teeth.

The four of us worked in harmony, making sales left and right. The girls had even brought a Hello Kitty lunchbox where we could store our precious bounty of dollar bills, quarters, dimes, and nickels.

Just as the sun rises, it must set. The yard sale and the fun and the chaos had come to an end. My father had come to collect Ariel, who was long overdue for a nap. My mother called me over to help put tables and chairs away.

I hesitated. I looked back over to the two girls, and one of them gave me a thumbs-up. The other smiled. I figured it’d be fine, and that I wouldn’t be gone long, anyways.

Mere minutes later, I returned to the site of our stand to thank the girls. The girls had disappeared, along with our piggy banks and the Hello Kitty lunchbox.

My sister and I had been robbed.

Things the Venus Signs Would Say

The God of Fire

The air was electrifying,

Up here in Mount Olympus,

Hera had supposedly birthed a boy,

And it was a time for celebration!

Dionysus brought his fine wine,

Apollo strummed his lyre,

Thalia sang a song so contagiously upbeat,

That even Ares couldn’t help the tapping of his feet.

It was a joyous occasion indeed!

For whom the party was for,

Had yet to be seen.

Where was Zeus, Hera,

And their newest offspring?

Off in the distance,

One could hear a newborn’s crying.

Hera and Zeus agreed that the child was imperfect.

That in regards to their other children,

He was by far the ugliest,

Borderline grotesque.

His parents,

Hera and Zeus,

Casted him out.

Had thrown him down,

The very steps of Olympus.

But immortals cannot perish.

Where he lay,

Sprawled upon the steps,

He could see the flaming sun.

He stretched the tips of his fingertips,

And soon a chunk of it became his own.

He placed it upon the marble staircase,

Hands unscorched,

He molded it into a blanket,

One to keep him safe and warm.

The newest son of Olympus,

Was by no means a piece of art,

But he himself was an exceptional sculptor.

Of decor,

Of masonry,

Of temples,

Of whatever one’s heart could desire.

This child would soon be renowned as Hephaestus,

The one and only,

God of Fire.

To Trick a God

The god was as wild as the wind,

Nobody knew what he’d do next.

Not even him himself.

Hermes was always out and about,

In search of adventure.

And without a doubt,

The young god,

Was invested in many projects.

His favorite perhaps,

Was one of his firsts,

You see,

It was quite the infamous conquest.

The cattle was Apollo’s,

And Hermes a mere child,

To him,

The opportunity was nothing but golden!

Within the pasture,

Hermes guided the herd of cows to walk backwards.

It’d fool anyone who’d follow the trail,

Making it all the more funnier.

He’d fashioned a pair of hooves himself,

To conceal his very own footprints.

It was the perfect crime,

There was no evidence!

Apollo infuriated,

Went to Zeus demanding justice.

Zeus thought of Hermes,

Whose eyes had always twinkled with mischief.

He summoned the boy,

And demanded Hermes to apologize.

He did,

And in exchange for the cows,

Hermes gifted Apollo the lyre.

Queen of the Gods

A man comes to the temple,

Before a statue of great height.

She’s regal,

Doe-eyed,

Eerily life-like.

Surrounded by peacocks,

Their feathers glow blue and green in the night.

The man tells the sacred deity about his dear wife.

Their marriage,

He tells her, had known nothing but strife.

“We were promised to each other,

We hadn’t any say,

Unless we wanted to be casted out,

Someplace, far, far away…

We married not for love,

Not for choice!

It pains me to say,

She desires freedom,

Oh goddess, oh Hera, is divorce the only way?”

He offers a drachma to the fire burning oh so bright,

The flames dance and spin to the tune of the wind.

The man before the statue bows down,

And from the statue, these words flutter out,

“Divorce is an option, oh it is, indeed.

However,

You don’t seem to see,

That women aren’t allowed to be independent of men.

Your wife has no rights to property,

Nor to vote at her own liberty.

So this is what I recommend to thee,

Talk with your weary wife,

Whose eyes wander to the great beyond.

Explain to her the consequences of divorce,

And how the world will cast her down under,

Heedless of her say and power.”

The Queen of the Gods,

Hera has spoken,

As always, abiding by her duty.

Helping women and fixing marriages,

Overseeing the children,

All the while her husband,

King of the Gods,

Oh mighty Zeus,

Has been sleeping with all of Olympus.

She wishes to leave her poor-excuse for a husband,

With all of her might,

However,

Hera knows that without Zeus,

Her noble title will be lost.

So she remains bound by holy matrimony,

As the Queen of the Gods,

And unfortunately, Zeus’s wife.

When I was growing up, my mother told me the droplets that fell from above were the tears of gods. She said that the gods cried like how humans cried. I always wondered what gods could have to cry about. They were gods! Everyone knows that the gods could do anything they wanted. They could wield the Earth as their weapon. They could be any being, anywhere, at any time. They were immortal. The gods knew no end, no death, no sorrow! Little me didn’t understand that they were flawed from the beginning. The gods experienced everything forever. There was no rest, no slumber. How can one be motivated if their clock never stops ticking? If the sand in their hourglass will never run out? War, famine, death and disease. The gods have passed through many lifetimes of nothing. Are the gods alive, if they aren’t capable of dying? The tears of gods are shed for the death that’ll always be out of grasp. Humans face divine retribution for the gods are jealous of what they cannot have,

Death.