You grabbed your bag of supplies and headed out, heading down the rickety, make-shift "stairs" that would take you from "floor 5.5" that you were on down to the 4th floor. There was a space big enough for you to crawl behind the washing machine of apartment 417, and it was just a single man who lived there. He always left for work around this time, so it was easy for you to grab a few things.
Emerging out of the crawl space, you were relieved that the shuddering, pounding behemoth that was the washing machine was currently off - indeed, he usually did the washing at weekends. Weekends were a time to mostly stay home for you; the schedules became more unpredictable and the tower's inhabitants were home more.
You edged out from the side of the washing machine and into the large kitchen, your tiny footsteps making no noise on the kitchen tiles as you crept into the middle of the floor, trying to remember which cupboard had the biscuits. Finding it - the one on the far left, near the door to the room - you headed over.
Opening a cupboard was a pain, but you could do it. Expertly looping your hook around the vertical handle, you tied it to your waist. Proportionally faster and stronger than a human and in your physical prime, you were able to get the door open enough to enter. You were about to unhook it when you heard a sound that made your heart drop into your stomach. Titanic footsteps, heading into the kitchen! He was home!
Copyright 2000 - 2024 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.24 seconds at 11:33am on Nov 22, 2024 via server WEBX2.