robbery \\ hs

two

I wake up at 8:26 on a Saturday. This happens quite frequently now. I look around my room, which is actually rather gloomy and dark. The rain falling outside explains that. I hate days like this, but at the same time I can't help but love them.

After a good thirty minutes, I decided it was time for me to move. So I got ready for a day that was most likely going to be spent doing nothing.

My parents both have work today; dad has some cases he needs to go through and mom has an appointment with someone my age today. My mom being a therapist and my dad being a lawyer. They only work on Saturdays every so often. It never bothers me really, more time to be alone and free to do whatever (like pee with the bathroom door open).

Clad in a black Adidas sweater and black jeans, I walk through to the kitchen to get some breakfast.

News, news, Sesame Street, news, infomercials, etc. Finally, after surfing many channels when turning on the television, I land on an old episode CSI, which I have probably already seen. But, nonetheless, I watch it anyway.

I go over things I could be doing today in my mind (such as: laundry, clean my room, start on my book report, catch up on tv shows, maybe go out in the real world, blah blah blah). I think I might go grab some ice cream, seeing as we don't have any, I mean I'm only doing this household a favor.

Snatching my coat and keys I head out toward the nearest convenient store.

_____

Wow. This place is in desperate need for some new ice cream. Maybe I should just wait until we actually go grocery shopping. Maybe I'll just do that myself today. I walk around the back and look for something else that might satisfy me (without being older than I am). But as I step near the chips, everything goes silent. It's strange. I look at my surroundings and see the cause of it. The boy, no, the man, with his hair tied back and a black bandana over his mouth. I freeze, unsure of what to do.

"Go on," his muffled voice coaxes. "Open the damn thing, I haven't got all day." I hear the register open. His hair is damp and there are droplets of water making their way down his face. His beautiful face. From his dark green eyes to his structured jawline. Why am I thinking of him that way? He's a criminal.

He looks straight at me. God, why did I have to be staring... "How long does it fucking take to get money out of a register? Hurry up!" He slams his hand on the counter, while using the other to pull a gun. This is when I start hyperventilating. He looks over at me, his eyes turn lighter for a second it seems and then he turns back to the man behind the counter. Taking all the money he can into a backpack and the taking off out the door.

All I can think of is how I wish I could see him again.