Bandits

The flash fiction below is for the Micro Heist Challenge: Write a microfiction story about a heist in exactly 200 words.

We stopped pretending to be strolling after midnight, and we listened. Silence. We took off, scampering down the streets trying to beat dawn. The soles of my worn-out Nikes were no protection against the puddles. I was never so scared in my life.

The rain had stopped. Maybe my feet would be dry soon, and I wouldn't be so cold.

"This way," Robert guided us down an alley with broken bottles and broken people. We couldn't make out the faces, and they didn't care about three kids. The smell of urine was strong.

I laughed.

"Shut up!" Robert whispered; I ignored him.

"Three blind mice," I sang and laughed again. Jenni snickered.

We rounded the corner of First Street. Relief was in sight. We slipped through the lowest window of the abandoned warehouse near the river and collapsed.

We opened our backpacks and the velvet pouches. Loot from the old museum sparkled in the moonlight peeking through cracks.

"What'll we do with it?" I asked.

"I haven't figured that out yet," Robert snapped, gasping for air.

In the distance, we heard the sirens, and the rain started again.