He took a few deep breaths before pulling the holes of the black mask in the right position. His legs shook from under him, not because he was nervous-he was in too deep to feel nervous-but because he was getting ready to burst through the open window. The night shielded him from righteousness. Knowing he was the only one watching, he lifted first his leg. He was inside the house. As expected, the room was silent. Stepping forward, gun cold and invisible in the dark, a muffled curse flew out his lips as his foot collided against a surface. His arm pointed in every direction, finger ready to squeeze the trigger. After a moment of reassuring silence, the thumping between his lungs slowed.
Maneuvering through the room was much more difficult than he had anticipated. Bras with dangerous loops caught his feet. Books slid and thudded against the wall. Bags, all types of bag, with their spilled contents all scattered around him like little bubbles waiting to pop and wake everyone. He thought, maybe someone else had already broken into the house. This thought somehow only speeded his steps, perhaps motivated by the thought of someone else taking what wasn't his.
He was in the hallway now, gun still sweeping through the air. Then he stopped as he noticed white light spilling at the end of the hallway, not to mention the voices he started to hear. Someone was laughing, another was telling a joke. Two others were having their own conversation. He quickly became aware of how damp his mask was and considered removing it. If the heart pounding against his pair of lungs wasn't going to suffocate him, the sweaty mask might just drown him. Standing in the middle of the increasingly brightening hallway, he made the meteoric decision to run to the source of the voices, gun shaking in his hands, and screaming his threats at the family seated around the dining table.
His mouth ran dry as their laughter continued. What caused his hands to fall limp at his side gripped him all the more. They weren't laughing at him but still at each other. He gave another shout to catch their attention but still, they paid him none. He yelled a series of obscenities, even throwing his hands up with each syllable, but what this only achieved was a change in topic. He stood still as he watched them talk now about tables. This conversation droned on for what seemed like an hour. He was incredulous. Not one pair of eyes turned in his direction. Not one word directed to him. He snapped back in place when the mother stood up but soon groaned as he realized she was merely getting more rice.
He drew closer to the family, as close as atoms allowed. It was absolutely confusing, the whole thing. He had touched their faces with the barrel of the gun, uttering low threats but his effort to open their eyes to the grave situation they were supposed to be in was all in vain.
Finally, he mumbled the question that plagued his mind. Can anybody see me? He gathered his answer in their continuing joy. He languidly pulled out a chair from under him and sat with the family. The alarm vanished from his eyes and it was replaced with pensiveness. He removed the unnecessary mask and threw it on the floor. What was he to think? He couldn't be seen or felt. He pondered what to make of this curious situation he found himself in. Perhaps it wasn't a terrible thing, to be invisible. He had no family that he should trouble himself to explain to. He'd often wondered as a child what it would be like to walk through walls, and being invisible was the closest power to that. Perhaps it wasn't terrible at all!
All the things he could do! Suddenly, a wave of possibilities crashed inside him. He no longer had to be called a thief! He no longer had to run away from anybody! He could do whatever he pleased without having to face the consequences, an unfortunate implication his visible counterparts suffered to face. A long exhale flowed out of his nostrils. This was a miracle, and he was beginning to feel extremely grateful for being the recipient.
He pushed up from the chair and cared not about leaving his loaded gun on the table. Then, he leisurely carried out what he purposed to do. He sauntered in through the different rooms, turning on the lights and watching them flicker to life. The whole house became day and he couldn't shed one ribbon of care.
He sorted through their drawers and cabinets, pocketing jewelry and money. He tried on the father's gold watches and smiled at his reflection. He paused as he stared back at himself. There was he in the mirror. Logic told him this was impossible if he truly was invisible. The shine on the jewelry he stole caught his eye. He began to think again if this truly was a miracle. Thoughts bogged down his mind-thoughts that suggested it was rather a curse than a miracle. What was the use of wealth if not for ostentatious intentions? What was admiration if he was the one to give it to himself? Who was he if he was unseen? Did he exist if he didn't exist to others?
The same distant look in his eyes was back and he was then again quiet and brooding. He exited the room and headed back to the kitchen where, to his sudden surprise, nobody was to be found. He felt his feet speed before he was aware that he was running around the kitchen in panic. His eyes focused on the dining table and grew agitated to find that his gun was also missing.
There was a click behind him. He spun around and came face to face with the family, staring at him. The father, holding the gun, spoke first.
"You fool."
He found his voice in pieces. "H-how did you- what-"
"Nothing deters a criminal more than a lack of audience and an existential crisis in the middle of a robbery," answered the daughter.
As he stared into each of their eyes, accusing and acknowledging him, and down at the dark barrel of the gun, he made his decision.
It would have been a miracle.
