There’s that man again, right outside my bedroom window.
It never fails. It hasn't for the past six months.
Every Saturday morning, at 3 AM, he comes. And every stinking morning, he breaks into my house completely unannounced, and begins rummaging through all of my things. Now usually, it's just rummaging. He examines every object carefully (probably to see how valuable each one is), then puts each one back in its place.
Starting last month, however, he took it a step further.
He began stealing my stuff.
Now, as you can imagine, I don't take too well to this. And I'm more than prepared to confront him. But there are two problems with that. The first problem is...he's armed. He's always got that old, glossy Remington with him. It's got red stains on the barrel. What they are, I don't really care to find out. Of course, even so, I'd still be willing to confront him (I'm not exactly defenseless myself)...but then there's the thing that's been keeping me away from him all of the past six months.
His three buddies.
Those three always stick close to him, and there's always at least one or two that aren't getting distracted from their guard by all the valuables in my house. They're armed too. And for the past three Fridays, they've stolen dozens of the items from my house. They've taken everything, from furniture to jewelry. And frankly, I'm getting tired of it. Very, very tired.
I'm always forced to hide from them. Under my bed, a table, in a closet, or (if I can make it) outside. But not anymore. My back is so cramped up from having to lean over in my tightest spaces, that even my kinks have kinks. Though at least those guys, no matter how much they search through every facet, nook, and cranny in my house, have never once found me. It's like something naturally deters them from each hiding space of mine.
Well now, I'm going to make them find me.
The man is here on his own tonight. That's a first. He's still got the rifle though. But I can take care of that pretty easily, now that he's on his own. All I need to do is wait for just the right moment to strike. Look at him...so small...so helpless, when he's alone, all by himself. It almost makes him look innocent, like he couldn't be responsible for any bad thing at all. But I know otherwise.
I'm hiding under my bed. I have everything I need to take this guy down. He'll never know what hit him. Wait...I just heard a door slamming downstairs. The man is inside. I can hear him rummaging through my stuff again. He's probably got that big leather satchel with him that he's filling up with my stuff now. I hope that he's at least taking proper care of each prized possession of mine. Even thieves should have standards. (Besides, it'll all be worthless if it's damaged.)
From underneath the bed, I can see my door opening. I can see the man's feet trod in, covered up with those muddy rubber boots of his. Why?! Why must he track mud on my precious hardwood floors? This is insanity.
Well not anymore.
Tonight, I end him.
He's looking through my drawers now, cringing at what he sees inside. Somewhat embarrassing, if you ask me. He's already seen my...well, I probably shouldn't say. I would rather not have a bunch of the punks that read this story come up to my doorstep and start making a mockery of me. All I'll say is that this guy is making me more wildly enraged than ever before. He's going to regret that.
He's turned his back now. Good. It'll make it easier to surprise him. I wait for him to start stepping out the room. Now I can finally get out from under the bed and stand up. He looks behind him to make sure he hasn't missed anything.
Big mistake, man.
I let out a horrifying shriek as the man screams, paralyzed. For a moment, he just stands there, confused and scared. Finally, he makes his escape attempt. The fool. It's already too late to run away. He's quick, I'll admit, but I'm quicker. I soon outrun him, and now I'm in front of him, causing him to look at me in sheer terror. I have to be honest, this is more fun than I've had in years. I'd thank the man, but he'd have no idea why I did.
Instead, I just shoot out one of my "arms" towards him and grab him with a large "hand." I dangle him above me for a moment, squeezing him tight. I want him to feel my pain. Finally, I just let go of him and let him fall into my gaping "mouth."
I can feel him pounding and kicking at the roof of my mouth, clearly trying to get out. I bite down hard. I can hear him let out a choked scream. Finally, he's silent. I swallow, then go back to my room, where he dropped his satchel. Thankfully, he took good care of my stuff (as far as lowlives like him go).
But I can't put it all back up yet.
I can see one of his friends trudging here, muttering something about being betrayed and preparing to kill a certain someone.
I go back into hiding.
And now, I wait.
Written by Postuhenin
Content is available under CC BY-SA