The Best Mistake He Made

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by EquinoxSol, Jul 21, 2013.

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  1. Warren knelt among the high bush fence that surrounded the large house, his dark hoodie pulled up and over his eyes. Since it was already dark, the lights lining the path up to the mansion were on, providing some false sense of security to the people who lived there. Warren had been scoping the house for a few days, and had learned that the family there had gone on vacation for a week on holiday that morning. No one was in the house, and wouldn't be until next Saturday. By then he would be able to get to the other side of the city and have enough money to get him food for a week and a half.

    Checking the roads and the houses nearby for any sign of cars or people in the houses nearby, he silently crept out of the bushes, making sure not to make any noise. Creeping around to the back of the house, where he was less likely to be seen, he moved to a window on the first floor that lead to the kitchen

    Glancing inside, he checked for any sign of movement before pushing the window up, inch by inch. Breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't hear an alarm go off, he immediately thought it was weird. A rich family like this would definitely have one, and would arm if for the entire week in case of someone breaking in. Someone like Warren.

    Pushing himself into the house, he landed on the linoleum floor lightly, making sure to avoid the counter, not wanting to break anything. Leaving the window open, he softly walked into the house, deciding that he would check out the parents' room first.
  2. With a yawn, Roland typed away, the keyboard making soft clicking sounds as his fingers typed away. This simple device had been what had kept him busy for the past two hours, seeing as he was completely alone in the home and would be for the week to come. It was strange, how in love his parents seemed to be when they hardly threw a glance in his direction whenever he was around. Then again, he wasn't trying much on his end either, so it was fair game. Nonetheless, Roland decided that it was time for a late night snack. Without further ado, he shut his laptop and threw it beside him on the couch, standing up with a gentle groan, his muscles stiff from the lack of movement on his part.

    Slowly, he made his way out the door of his bedroom and opened the door, pausing when he thought having heard something. Probably the fridge being odd once again. No matter, he began making his way down the hall, glancing around the paintings he had memorised like the back of his hand - they definitely needed to get new ones. These were so...old. Then again, old painting were worth much more than newer ones, which meant that the home definitely shot higher on the market.

    Thinking of all of this, Roland marched down the stairs and turned into the kitchen, where he took notice of the open window. Odd, he hadn't even remembered having opened it in the first place. "Oh well," He found himself mumbling under his breath, reaching out and shutting it promptly, locking it with the small latch. He then made his way to the fridge and opened the door with the latch, leaning against the frame of the cold door as he peered at the contents, not finding anything worth eating.
  3. He had been prowling the husband and wife's room when he heard the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Pausing, he listened. Yeah, those were definitely footsteps. Oh, shit. Running a hand through his dark, shaggy hair, he bit the inside of his cheek worriedly. Should I go through with it, he thought to himself, moving to the large window in the bedroom. Could I jump that? Knowing that if he fell down from this height, he could break his leg, which was practically suicide on the streets.

    Frowning, he shook his head, deciding that he would have to complete the job. He needed the money. Setting his mouth into a firm line, he made his decision before walking towards the bedside table on the left side of the bed, pulling open the drawer before shining his tiny handheld flashlight into it. Examining the contents, he frowned at the mass of stray papers, condoms, and other junk, not finding anything of use. Checking the other side was much of the same, and he shut it with a soft, disgusted sigh, before remembering that he couldn't make a sound. Rubbing his temples with his index fingers, he frowned before glancing around the room, covering the light from the flashlight with a hand.

    On the dresser was a jewelry box. For some reason, Warren felt really bad at the idea of taking something from a jewelry box, but money was money. If he could sell a bracelet or something for one hundred dollars, then he could force himself not to think about it. Shutting the flashlight off, he walked over to the dresser, running his gloved hands over it to find the box. Instead of the box, they found the cold porcelain of a vase, which, from the feel of it, was very intricate and expensive. Before he could react, however, his hand had gone too far, and the vase toppled to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. As the crash echoed through the house, he let himself mutter a single word, "Shit," before diving into the closet, hiding amongst suit jackets and slacks that smelled faintly of cologne and strongly of expensive detergent.
  4. Despite how filled the fridge was, Roland was incapable of finding something worth eating and there was no way he'd bother to cook himself a proper meal at this hour of the night. Sighing softly, he raked his fingers through the his short hair, nibbling on his lip thoughtfully. Maybe he'd just stick with some fruit or something, that wouldn't be too bad, right? Deciding that he'd munch on something healthy, he reached in and grabbed an apple and an orange before he shut the fridge door and took a bowl from the cupboard over top of his head. Soon enough, he got to cutting the fruits, adding some kiwi and banana in there as well. A nice little bowl of something his parents would be proud of him for doing instead of choosing something like chips or pizza.

    Suddenly, a loud crash resonated through the home, making Roland curse out loud as he jumped back, his heart beating wildly. What the hell was that? It obviously wasn't his mom or dad, but he was pretty sure it had come from their bedroom. More out of curiosity than fear, he quickly walked up the steps that didn't creak when you walked upwards as it did when walking down them.

    Arriving in his parent's bedroom, Roland immediately absorbed the shattered pieces of glass on the floor, his heart beating just a little faster. Damn, that was his mom's favourite vase; more specifically the one his dad had gotten on their first year anniversary, seeing as she was obsessed with flowers at the time. Then he came to realize that the window was shut tightly and locked from the inside. This meant that the wind had no do in the breakage of this piece of art. Next, he took in the lack of natural wind whirling in the place, nor did he have a cat so that meant that it wasn't an animal of some sort. And then it seemed to click in.

    The open window in the really hadn't been him. The broken vase, the shut window up in his parent's bedroom...the fact that the closet door wasn't as shut as it should be. His blood seemed to freeze and his body paralyzed, fear gripping at every edge of his bones. This wasn't supposed to happen, he didn't want to die at this very moment! He couldn't! He had yet to attend high school instead of being home school; his parents had promised him that he'd get to spend his last year of school in an institute where there would be more students than just him. But he was going to die!

    "Who's there?" He demanded, trying to make his voice seem strong though the exact opposite seemed to occur, a small tremble escaping near the end. "I-i'm calling the police!"
  5. As soon as he heard someone call into the room, Warren panicked. Rich people tended to have guns, and if some rich guy killed a homeless kid who broke into his house, no one would care. 'It's just one less kid off the streets,' they would say. Christ, Warren didn't want to get shot, he just wanted to get money to eat. Plus, he had no feasible way out of the closet. Whoever it was would find him. And he would be arrested or killed.

    Still panicking, he slowly walked out of the closet, arms raised. Seeing that it was only a kid, about his age, too, he lowered his arms, the quavering in the voice from earlier making sense now. "Jesus," he muttered, glancing over to him. Checking that he didn't have anything in his pockets, he frowned before saying, "You don't even have a phone on you. Christ...Look, I didn't take anything, just...don't call the cops or anything," he said, his desperation showing as his stomach let out a low growl of hunger. Frowning, he looked down, not daring to move for fear that the person standing across from him would call the police. The three years he had been on the streets had been hard, yes, but he had never been arrested before.
  6. Roland knew his dad had a gun in one of the drawers, he just didn't know which one and there was no way he was going to pick one of those up. Something about shooting a human being just didn't sit well with him. Why couldn't his parents have simply decided to leave tomorrow? Things would have been much simpler, unless this creeper knew that he was alone and was coming to murder him or something? Perhaps the whole vase breaking was nothing but a decoy? Oh boy, if that was the case...he was screwed.

    But then a guy walked out of the closet and Roland took a few steps back immediately, his eyes wide, glad he hadn't screamed like he so badly wanted to do. What the hell?! There actually had been someone in his house!? At least the guy had his arms rai -- wait, why was he lowering his arms?! For a brief second, the boy thought the stranger was going to pull a gun out and shoot him right then and there but that wasn't the case. In fact, he actually seemed relieved, which confused him. "No, but you broke that vase." Roland said accusingly, shooting him a glare, wishing he had a phone on him , but that was by his laptop on the couch...down stairs. He heard the growl of hunger and the boy raised an eyebrow, suddenly feeling less threatened seeing as they were both uneasy.

    "Well, why'd you come up here?" He questioned, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to seem bigger or at least more assertive, something he hadn't actually needed to do before.
  7. Warren couldn't help but smirk at the question. "Why do you think?" he asked, before realizing what he must have thought. "I'm not doing it for drug money. I don't think if you've noticed, but," he gestured towards his dirty hoodie and jeans, "I'm homeless...and people on the street think that kids on the street are there to mug them, so I don't really get a lot of money asking for change. And...I may be trash to someone like you, but I deserve to eat, don't I?"

    Looking down at his aging Chuck Taylor's, he frowned. "Look," he said, his dark eyes narrowing at his feet, "I'm sorry...I just...figured that a rich family like yours wouldn't miss a few twenties or a bracelet to get me through the week. I just, can't go to know what they'd do to someone like me?" he gestured towards himself, and though you wouldn't be able to see it through the darkness, his skin was of an olive tone.

    Shoving his hands through his pockets, he felt in the right one the hole that had been the bane of his existence for almost a month. He would lose everything in it, from coins to coupons to cards. Focusing on that, wishing that he could just disappear, he sighed again, his stomach tying itself in knots.
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