Chris turned off his vibrating cellphone. He had allowed himself a couple of hours of sleep by putting his cellphone on vibrate and holding it in his hand. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. All his senses were alert now: listening, watching, smelling and feeling for the slightest indication that he was not alone. The house was silent.
All the occupants were probably asleep by now. Chris sat up and adjusted his ski mask and checked his trench knife. The first phase of his mission was completed without incident. Slowly, quietly, Chris stood and pressed his body up against the wall. The door to the hallway was only a few feet away. He reached the door and peeked around the door frame and down the hall. It was empty.
Slipping down to all fours, Chris used the alligator crawl technique to move down the hallway. It was a moonless night, so he didn’t need to worry about illumination coming from outside. From the kitchen door, he peered inside. No one was there. Using the Alabama high-stepper technique to avoid trip wires and obstacles, he entered the kitchen. He held his breath for nearly a minute as he listened for any unusual noise. There was none. The target was there on the counter top. In one smooth motion, he removed his trench knife and slid over to his target.
Suddenly, the kitchen light came on and a voice from the doorway asked, “Chris, what the hell are you doing?”
Chris froze. “I, I, I just wanted a piece of cake.”
His wife put her hands on her hips. “You’re a diabetic. Cake will raise your blood sugar. Besides, the doctor said you must lose weight. Now put that knife down before you hurt yourself and take off that ski mask. You look ridiculous. Come back to bed.
Rats, ambushed. Abort mission, Chris thought. Tomorrow is another night.
The End
All the occupants were probably asleep by now. Chris sat up and adjusted his ski mask and checked his trench knife. The first phase of his mission was completed without incident. Slowly, quietly, Chris stood and pressed his body up against the wall. The door to the hallway was only a few feet away. He reached the door and peeked around the door frame and down the hall. It was empty.
Slipping down to all fours, Chris used the alligator crawl technique to move down the hallway. It was a moonless night, so he didn’t need to worry about illumination coming from outside. From the kitchen door, he peered inside. No one was there. Using the Alabama high-stepper technique to avoid trip wires and obstacles, he entered the kitchen. He held his breath for nearly a minute as he listened for any unusual noise. There was none. The target was there on the counter top. In one smooth motion, he removed his trench knife and slid over to his target.
Suddenly, the kitchen light came on and a voice from the doorway asked, “Chris, what the hell are you doing?”
Chris froze. “I, I, I just wanted a piece of cake.”
His wife put her hands on her hips. “You’re a diabetic. Cake will raise your blood sugar. Besides, the doctor said you must lose weight. Now put that knife down before you hurt yourself and take off that ski mask. You look ridiculous. Come back to bed.
Rats, ambushed. Abort mission, Chris thought. Tomorrow is another night.
The End
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