All Stolen Things

by Slave Prince
"Look, Jake, you can't play with us if you don't have any money," said his best friend. "Okay, okay. I'll wait for you. Just come back here at one in the afternoon."

Jake ran out the game station. The road down the hill was too wet to run on. So he had to walk slowly and mindfully. And it took him an hour to reach the gate of his house. He took out his wristwatch. It's now ten in the morning. He had to hurry or else he would be late in the Super Mario First Battle Round and be a loser.

The garage was empty. That meant his father was out for work very early. What about his lunch? It looked like he had to cook a lunch himself.

His shoes were full of water inside. He put them into the shoe rack and got a new pair.

He went inside the kitchen and found a lunchbox on the center of the table. Looked like his father had not forgotten him at all. He ate all the food inside the lunchbox, drank water from the fridge, washed his hands and headed to his father's bedroom.

I have to win, he thought, or else, no, I will win, I am sure of it.

He took four dollars out his father's second pocket, looked outside the window, and took two more dollars.

With the money on his hand, he walked out the house. The rain began to fall. His wristwatch told him it's now thirty minutes after twelve. He put his money on his back-pocket.

His neighbor was also out. So he entered the backyard and stole the bike.

He rode fast up the hill. He parked the bike on the roadside at the front of the game station.

He entered. He's late. The game had already began. His best friend was not there. Scratching his head, he opened the door and got out, only to find that the bike was missing. He looked over the long road and saw the bike rolling down the road and it crashed onto a large tree and it was wrecked.

A bus stopped on his front. He put his hand in his back-pocket to trace the money. And it was gone. He just watched the bus start and go away.

He had to go home before he catches cold. So he walked through the rain, and in his head, he was formulating believable lies to tell his father and his neighbor. He just couldn't tell the truth. Not now.
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RogerBraun

RogerBraun

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