Flash Fiction contest. Prompt: You aren’t supposed to be here.
|"You aren’t supposed to be here."
I froze dead in my tracks, my hands hovering over the safe I had been trying to crack open, my heart pounding a mile a minute. I was told the old man was gone, leaving an empty house, but obviously that was not the case, and now I had been spotted. This was supposed to be an easy hit for my first time, and now I had no clue how I was going to get out of this. I heard the unmistakable click of a gun behind me.
Was this worth it at all? I was trying to get in with this group of guys who didn't call themselves a gang but they might as well have. All I had to do was break into this old man's house, use my "special skills" to get into his safe and get out with all the cash. Apparently the man was loaded. One of the other guys had been staking out the place and reported back that the man had left. It was supposed to be so easy. I had to deliver the cash to the group leader and I'd be in, and I'd be able to keep a little for myself as a bonus.
I had just located the large safe in the basement of this modest suburban home and had begun working my magic on it. He must have come home earlier than expected.
"You have exactly three seconds to get out of my house before I blow your head right off your shoulders," he said.
I didn't have to be told twice. I turned around and bolted right past the old man, up the stairs and out the front door, my feet carrying me faster than they ever had before.
Word Count: 297