Fiction, Melbourne, Writing

The Break In

I creep into the courtyard. The darkness is a blanket over the sky; I can’t even see a single star shining. The moon’s glow is faint. I turn on the torch on my iPhone, just for a second, to see the path ahead.

Continuing to stalk along the tiles, the night’s chill envelopes me. I shiver, turn off the torch.

There’s a huge pot plant in here somewhere. Near to me right now, if memory serves. I can’t risk stumbling onto it, in case it topples over and wakes the residents of the complex. I look up, there’s a light in one of the second storey windows. Not his.

A dog barks. My heart surges with a hot fear. The dog keeps yapping but it’s in the next apartment block over. I pull the black balaclava over my face and breath for a moment. He always said I didn’t have the backbone for this kind of thing. I’m gonna show him.

I’m at the entrance to the complex now. Dim, flickering fluorescent tubes give off enough light for me to see the familiar dank concrete hall, with stairs that lead up, and the three doors to the downstairs apartments. I can hear voices coming from behind those doors.

Silently, I make my way upstairs. I get to his door. Lean my ear against it. It’s deadly quiet. I take out a bobby pin, with the little bulbous end already cut off, and slide it into the lock. Jiggle until I hear a click.

I’m in.

The living area is in darkness. A light above the stove shines, giving off a creepy glow around the kitchenette. I tiptoe down the hall towards his room. Past the bathroom. A tap in the sink is trickling; the noise distracting, alerts me to the fact that my bladder is full. Now bursting, so I slide down my black tights and use his loo. My piss is deafeningly loud as the flow hits the water. I don’t flush, pull my tights back up over my ample bum and begin to stealthily walk to his door.

My hand hovers over the doorknob. Can I actually do this? With my other hand, I take the knife from its sheath strapped to my ankle, and press down on the door handle.

Loud cracking sounds splinters the silence of the night. There’s a heat in my leg, biting and moist. My eyes water from the pain. I look around. Bullet holes form a circle pattern in the door where I was just standing. I stare down at my leg. Blood seeps from a gaping wound in my upper thigh. The bullet has ripped open my skin to reveal muscles and a white speck. The femur.

The room spins. My eyelids are heavy.

‘So you thought you could sneak in, did you?’ He’s in the doorway, holding a gun. He points it directly at my torso, presses the trigger.

Weakness. Blackness. Nothing.

Photo by Matthias Müllner on Unsplash

13 thoughts on “The Break In”

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