The Thief

 I jumped out of bed, sweat covering me in a layer of sheen. Unable to sleep, I had been and turning in my bed for two hours. Thinking that a little water and air would do me some good, I got out of bed and went down the stairs. To my surprise, all the lights were switched off. Usually, my parents would leave the lamp under the stairs switched on, as I was a little scared of the dark.  Now with no light of the little light cast by the crescent moon up in the sky or the streetlight farther down the lane, I tiptoed to the lamp and I switched it on. The flicker of light surprised me, as it was a little sudden. Walking slowly to the kitchen with my hands clasped behind my back, I was again left astonished when I saw the backdoor open, though just a little. A gentle breeze blew and the leaves rustled as if swaying to the rhythm. Closing the door, I was left perplexed as to why my parents hadn’t closed the door. Now a little scared, I walked to the kitchen quietly. Walking in, I took a glass off the kitchen counter and filled it with water. Drinking it slowly, I was absorbing the coolness of the liquid. A yellow light was switched on in front of me, and that was when I saw a tall shadow on the wall. Scared, I turned around to see if somebody was there, but I saw nobody. 

“Hello? Anybody here? Mom? Dad?” I asked. But I received no response.  

Turning around, I scanned the kitchen for something. Nothing. Dismissing what I had seen as a hallucination, I decided that I needed some sleep.  Walking back to the staircase, I realised that I still had the glass in my hand. Shaking my head, I walked back to the kitchen. But what I saw made my blood run cold and my body stiffened. I let out a high pitched yell, similar to the one I gave out when few of my classmates decided it would be a good idea to let a white mouse in the classroom. We still have no idea how they managed that.

In front of me, the refrigerator door was open and the orange light coming from it cast around the kitchen. But what scared me more was the figure previously hunched forward in front of the fridge and was now looking at me with wide eyes and a terrified look on their face. My parents rushed down to my side, my father clasping my hand and my mother dragged the person away from the fridge and seated them at the table, from where they had been standing, shocked. Not a seasoned thief, I decided.

"What are you doing here? And who are you? Justify your actions before we call the police!" My mother yelled at the person with a frying pan, Tangled style. My father switched on the light, and I saw who the person was. She looked about 14, with black hair that reached her shoulders. They were chopped sloppily, as if cut using safety scissors. Dressed in yellow slacks that looked almost brown with all the dust and grime, and a dark blue shirt that was shredded at one sleeve. She looked down at the table in shame. But I was wrong. She started sobbing. Hesitantly, my mother offered her a napkin while she started narrating her story which was barely intelligible through her sobs and sniffles.

"My parents died with my grandfather two years ago and I was put for adoption. Eight months ago, I was adopted by a couple. They were not the nicest people though, so I ran away from there. I was just looking for some food here."

Hearing her, I realised that I was so lucky. I had loving parents, a home and good education even if I had weird students as my classmates. I like to think that this incident motivated me to become a journalist, fighting against the wrongs and the injustices in the society. My parents opened a donation site for orphaned and homeless children, and that girl was the first person to be helped.