SNATCHED!

It was 3:42 on a Friday and Elephant & Castle was doing the most. Steam rising from jerk pans, drill music leaking out of tinny speakers, and schoolkids moving like they owned the road. Traffic stuck. Heat thick. The air had a scent that was one-third sweat, two-thirds chicken, and pure London attitude.

Zariah strolled through the madness with not a care in the world. Her lashes were long, her nails were sharp, and her walk was unrushed. Pink plastic bag from Hairtown swinging at her wrist like it had somewhere to be. Phone in one hand, iced coffee in the other. She was halfway through a voice note cussing her cousin when it happened.

That sound.

The quick whirr of tyres slicing through pavement. No bell. No warning. Just noise and arrogance.

She didn’t even flinch at first. Her eyes flicked sideways and there he was. Hoodie pulled up. Face low. Bike too close. Then came the swipe.

Clean. Disrespectful. Her phone vanished from her hand like it never belonged to her in the first place.

The crowd didn't react fast enough. But Zariah did.

No scream. No gasp. Just instinct. Her body spun slightly, weight shifted, and her leg lifted like it had a personal vendetta. The heel of her black mule met the back wheel of the bike with a heavy clap that sounded like judgment day in Croydon.

The thief didn't have time to think. His bike skidded sideways, wobbled, then flipped. His whole body flew off like a badly written decision and landed in the road.

Traffic froze.

One silver VW screeched to a halt but not fast enough. The thief bounced off the bonnet and hit the ground with a sound that turned heads and made a dog bark.

The street paused. People gathered. A white woman gasped. A teenager filmed. One man with gold teeth shouted, “Oi! South gyal kick like Mbappé!”

Zariah walked over. No rush. No panic. The world spun slower for her. She stepped past the bent-up bike frame and reached down with two fingers, lifting her phone off the road like a queen reclaiming what was rightfully hers.

She glanced at the screen. Minor scratch. Still working. Unlike him.

The thief groaned. He was lying in the gutter with his mouth open like he wanted to complain but knew better.

Zariah stepped over him. Not around. Over. One smooth lift of the leg, enough thigh to make a minister blink, and her heel landed clean on the other side like nothing had happened. The crowd parted like they knew not to block her path.

A little girl in a school uniform looked up and said, “Mummy, is she a superhero?”

Zariah didn’t answer. She was too busy fixing her bra strap, tucking her phone into her bag, and adjusting her shades. The sirens started coming from somewhere in the distance. She didn’t look back. Her hips carried her forward like she had reservations and bad news to deliver.

She sucked her teeth and muttered low, “Play stupid games. Win concrete.”

Moral of the story?

You see Zariah in Elephant? Mind yuh bloodclaat business.

And keep yuh thieving raas in the road where yuh belong.