In the midst of the Walpole production, it became painfully evident that Orsic had overlooked a critical detail: the absence of bodycams on the New Hampshire (NH) crew. This realization struck me like a lightning bolt, casting a shadow over our meticulously planned operation. I found myself mentally replaying the scene from multiple angles, acutely aware of where I should have been standing, capturing every crucial moment.
As I slipped on the ring, the weight of our situation pressed upon me. We were about to rely solely on word-of-mouth accounts to piece together the events of that fateful night. The house, once brimming with our ill-gotten gains, was gradually being emptied into nondescript trash bags. My mind raced, attempting to recall every transaction and interaction in the days leading up to this pivotal moment.
Amidst the chaos, I couldn’t help but wonder about the whereabouts of my getaway car. It had been a source of comfort, a symbol of escape, and now it seemed elusive. Just when despair threatened to consume me, a serendipitous twist of fate unfolded. A rugged biker appeared on the scene, like a character from a Hollywood movie set. Without hesitation, I seized the opportunity, jumping into a beat-up convertible and donning a luxurious Chanel jacket.
As we sped away, I couldn’t shake the bitter taste of regret. The lack of camera footage haunted me, a constant reminder that our actions would remain shrouded in secrecy, leaving only our spoken words to tell the tale. The getaway was thrilling, but it was impossible to escape the nagging feeling that the truth would forever be obscured, hidden behind the veil of an unrecorded heist.
I can bend your “reality” with a pen.
-Lucille Alabaster
#acclaimed
