modestlycreative

It was on a rainy day in October in London that Noel Cunningham experienced his first, and last, heartattack. Noel was an ordinary man in his late fifties with a large stomach and a bit too high blood pressure. He had recently visited his secretary, whom he had an affair with, when he decided that he was in grave need of a beer or two, or a few more, if he was feeling up to it. Governed by this sudden and very strong desire, he started to search for a cash dispenser. He found one on the other side of the street and started walking over the nearest zebra-crossing. A car suddenly came driving from out of nowhere and Noel was forced to throw himself backwards to avoid being hit. He felt a sharp sting in his left arm but before he knew, the sensation faded. He got on his feet and continued crossing the street, carefully searching for any other car that might decide to ignore the red light.
When he reached the dispenser, he went through his coat in search for his cashcard, cursing fiercly until he finally found it in the hip-pockets off his trousers. With a smug grin on his pig-like face, he inserted the card into the machine and started pressing the keys.
Nothing happened. His card was not even returned to him. Noel resumed his cursing, clenched his fist and slammed it into the cash dispenser. The card was returned to him, and he could feel a painful sting in his upper left arm. He chose to ignore it and inserted the card once more. This time it worked and he decided that he needed 100 pounds.
As he reached for the note, he was suddenly pushed aside. Noel fell over and before he had a chance to react, the stinging in his arm violently increased. His ears started ringing and his vision became blurred. The last thing Noel Cunningham ever saw was the back of a slender figure, running away from him.

Milly laughed as she ran away with her brown hair and motley set of clothing flying in the wind. That old fart would never catch her, she was way too quick. After a few hundred yards of running, she allowed herself to slow down. Still moving at a quick pace however, dodging other pedestrians like bullets, she carefully pocketed the note. 100 pounds, she was rich!
She had always been a little street-urchin and for as long as she could remember, she had lived on the streets. Without any parents around after the age of five, it was pure luck that she had lived to see her nineteenth birthday, or, according to her; pure talent. As a child, she had focused her efforts on stealing, but after she had entered puberty, she discovered that there were other ways for her to make some quick money as well. Ways that also gave her a place to stay during the night. Sleeping on the streets was not as bad as it could sound, but she still preffered a bed in a nice, or not so nice, hotelroom in front of a murky alley.
As Milly passed a restaurant, her stomach began to rumble. She ignored the uncomfortable feeling and kept on walking, the place was way to fancy for her. They would probably just throw her out if she tried to enter. She walked for a few minutes until she found a McDonalds, where she entered, accompanied by the constant rumblings from her abdomen.

Melvin yawned, it had been a long day. The redhaired and pimply juvenile made sure that noone was around, opened the register and snatched a random note. He pocketed it just as the door to the empty McDonalds restaurant was opened and a rather threadbare girl stepped inside. She looked about his age, and normally he would have been interested in just about any teen of the opposite gender, her scrawny filthyness served as a big turn-off for him. He simply regarded her with a nod when she approached him.
–Supersize me! Her voice was gentle but very eager.
–Big Mac, I take it? He tried his best to make his voice cool, but she did not seem to notice.
–Of course, with a chocolate milkshake, please.
Melvin nodded and started working. After a minute or two, the food laid on the tray in front of him.
–That’ll be four pounds.
The girl grinned at him and slammed her hand on the counter. Melvin was taken aback by suprise when she removed her hand and the note became visible; 100 punds. He quickly opened the register and gave her the change. She flashed him another grin and reached for her tray.
–Thanks, mate.
Once she had eaten and left the restaurant, Melvin did not wait a second. Once again, he opened the register and quickly snatched the note. He was so going to get high tonight.
Later that evening, Melvin waited for his supplier. When he finally saw the blackclad young man approaching, he was trembling with anticipaton.
–Well, if it isn´t my favorite customer. What can I get you this time, Melvin?
Melvin smiled and answered:
–Well, Raze, how much pot can I get for a hundered?
If Raze was suprised, he did not show it. He just smiled his usual, playful smile.
–Looks like you´ve finally learned how to make some real cash, kid. For one hundred pounds, I can give you twenty joints.
–Only twenty? Come on, man, it´s a lot of money.
–There isn´t much I can do about it, kid. The cops took my last shipment, I was nearly out of business for a week or two. This is the offer, kid, take it or leave it.
Melvin sighed and reached for the note. Raze looked satisfied and handed him a bag of joints.
–Until we meet again, kid. Until we meet again.

Raze was in a good mood when he was making his way home. A good transaction meant more money for him, and besides, he kind of liked Melvin. The kid was somewhat of a coward, but something about him reminded Raze of himself when he was about that age. Not the looks though, that was for sure. Raze looked nothing like Melvins red hair and pimples with his own jet black hair and smooth face.
As he walked down an alley, Raze heard a strange noise comming from behind him. He quickly turned around, hands in his pocket, reaching for the gun he always carried with him for safety. Noone there. Raze started walking faster, he was a bit scared now.
When he had walked for a few minutes without hearing anything but the sounds of the city around him, he started feeling surer of himself and took another glance over his shoulder. A darkclad figure stood behind a few feet behind him, aiming something in his direction. Raze screamed.

The rain kept on falling and Officier Bill Murphy sighed, bloody English weather. He was standing over the body of a young man with a gaping hole in his forehead. According to the young mans wallet, he was a certain Richard Calvin, from one of the nicer parts of town. Bill could not help but wondering what a rich kid was doing in these shabby neighbourhoods with a gun in his pocket.
After a more throughoutly search of the kid, he found the reason. Traces of marijuana. And judging by the 100 pounds in the kids red wallet, he had been selling, not buying. Bill suspected that the murder had been territorial, or possibly gang-related. It was hard to know for certain, and they would probably never find out, since these kinds of cases almost never were solved. No witnesses willing to talk, no clues, and most of all; no obvious motives. Bill sighed once more; this was going to be a long night.
It was not until eight in the morning when he finally came back to his flat. After taking a sip from a stale beer that he found in the fridge, Bill threw himself down on the large bed he shared with his wife. She had gone to work and would not be home until seven that evening, so Bill decided that he might as well try to get some sleep before she came back. It would be a nice suprise for her to actually have her husband awake when she came home. He had risen from the bed just to take off the coat when he noticed that one pocket felt strangely heavy. As he reached inside, he found the wallet he had taken from the corpse earlier that night. Bill cursed. He could not return it now, he had already ruined the evidence. Fortunatly, he had not written his report yet, and noone knew about the wallet. Bill decided that there was nothing else to do than return to the bed.

At 12:15 PM, the door to the Murphy residence was opened by Janice Murphy, wife of Bill. She was not suprised to find her beloved husband sleeping like a child on their bed. She suspected that he had had a tough night, working the late shift again, and were trying to get some sleep now so that he would be able to spend some time with her when he woke up. It was really an excellent idea, Janice thought, and perhaps she could prepare a nice dinner for the two of them. But in order to do that, she needed cash. Her account was empty since she would not get her salary until the following day. If Bill had some money on him, he could probably give her some, but she did not want to wake him up. She looked through the room until she found his coat. Her hands reached into the pockets and she found a red wallet which actually contained a 100 pound-note. She smiled for herself as she quietly exited the flat.
Half an hour later, Janice jumped of a buss at Picadilly Circus and started heading towards the nearest supermarket. It had recently stoped raining and a keen wind blew throught the city. When she was crossing a bridge, she reached for the note inside her pocket. She wanted to make sure that it really was a houndred, and not just a ten. Luckily she was correct, but when she was about to put the note back when suddenly, the wind grabbed it. Janice called out in suprise and tried to reach it, but she was too late. The note blew down in the river Thames.

A 100 pound-note came floating on the river Thames when suddenly, a seagull dove down and grabbed it with its beak. The seagull flew for a while, still carrying the note, until it reached a small nest on a cliff. There, it placed the note on the nests floor. Two months later, two small eggs laid untop of the little paperpiece that used to be worth 100 English punds.