Squirrel, Artist, Criminal by Charlie Yates

Squirrel:

In my last life, I was a squirrel. The first time I shared this fact with someone else, I was surprised to find that my interlocutor took me seriously. I am a generally reliable individual with a reputation for slight over-seriousness so perhaps I should not have been surprised. “What did acorns taste like? What do they taste like now?”He asked, scraping the last bit out of his bowl. I took a second to think, my eyes flitting across the restaurant. “When I was a squirrel, acorns tasted like honeycomb.” “And now?” “Well, now they kinda taste like shit.”

Artist:

There once was a painter who painted every day. He painted all sorts of wonderful paintings; dazzling landscapes, stately portraits, and inspiring abstract scenes, all well-received and monetarily supported by his community and the art world. He lived a charmed life, lost in reverie until pulled out of his beautiful little world by his adoring wife, his two lovely children, or the stylish barista at his favorite coffee shop who started his order when she saw his Nissan Leaf pull up outside the window. He had his problems, for sure, but his life was about as good as one could hope for and he was very grateful for it. He washed his brushes in the slop sink, smiling like a maniac.

Criminal:

The man had never considered himself a criminal but a perfect opportunity was staring him in the face: someone had left a bulging Louis Vuitton wallet by the sink in the handicap bathroom. He had only begun seeking out single stalls a few days ago following an unfortunate (and best left unrepeated) incident that had dramatically limited his range of urinary motion; this had to be a sign from the universe, he thought. It was as if God himself was telling him to steal the wallet. After a minute of deliberation (and three for him to relieve himself), he washed his hands, grabbed the wallet and ventured out into the mall a criminal. There was no announcement over the loudspeakers, nobody approached him in frantic search, he just felt guilty for a few days and then forgot there had ever been a wallet at all.