Mary Corff-Riley
The Thief’s Reflections
Terror reaches out it’s non-corporal arms, freezes, and releases us. Our feet pound into the hungry earth, shadows loom, and rustles scream. Our throats are hoarse with suppressed shrieks and lack of oxygen. Like a hamster spinning madly in its wheel, my legs pump the bike peddles. Crazy eyed like a horse about to be shot we turn the corner and find my house.
It’s Saturday night. My friend, Audrey, and I take a ride on my sister’s bike. She sits in the basket behind the bike. I peddle for us both. Down the winding trail of dirt, shrubs, and cacti the big red bike nearly collapses under our weight. We walk it up the tall hill, which, when we top illuminates our school. The sun is low on the horizon. We can’t stay long.
Parking our vehicle we explore. The playground becomes a dragon, trying to capture us. We nimbly escape its clutches and taunt it by moving from monkey bars, to swings, to the climbing gym. Faltering in our mindless play we escape, and stand in a hollow to catch our breath. The depression is a short hall. It leads to the entrance to our school. The sun’s light is pale and dim. A bright light catches our eyes. The doorway has a window. Through the window we see the long hallway leading towards our computer class. Light glints enticingly from the open door leading to the computer lab. “No one’s supposed to be here,” whispers Audrey in my ear. Trickles of fear tickle my back, the hair on my arms rise. “Let’s go check out the other doors, see if they’re open,” I whisper back. We creep over to the other side of the building, peeking into the glass doors. Inside all is dark, deserted. The breeze chills our bare arms. Cautiously we approach the doors. Grasping the cold, iron handles we pull. The doors are unyielding. Relived we let out a sigh, glance up, and stare into the eyes of two raggedy men.
Terror reaches out. It’s non-corporal arms freezes, releases us. Our feet pound. Hungry earth and looming shadows. Rustles scream. Our throats are hoarse. Suppressed screams, lack of oxygen. A hamster spinning madly. My legs pump. The peddles to my bike flash. Crazy eyed. A horse about to be shot. We turn the corner and find my house.
Bursting open my front door we slam into the comforting presence of my mother. “Two men are hijacking our school and stealing our computers!” My mom, taken slightly back by our intensity, calmly replies, “It’s just your imagination. You probably just saw some of your teachers and didn’t recognize them.” Audrey and I glance at each other. We had forgotten about the teachers. They were in danger! The crazy men were probably holding them at gun point! In a flash we shot back out the door, get on my poor sister’s bike, and head back to the perilous school.
At the top of the hill our bravery falters. The school looks deserted, haunted, something that belongs in our worst nightmares. We are just two ten year old girls. What can we do? “We’re their only hope,” Audrey states soberly. I nod thinking of our homeroom teacher and how much I wanted to give her my homework on Monday. We leave the bike at the bottom of the hill. Slinking towards the school we jump at every sound and movement, ready for an insane bugler to jump out shooting. Several times we were forced to retrace our steps, feeling bodiless, hostile eyes watching us. We skulk up to the doors where we had seen the men. History had never know two braver girls. After waiting for an eternity, we rush out of the shadows and stare into the glass doors. Two people stand there staring at us. We flinch, prepared to bolt, when we realize that the people had no feet. We stare at them. They stare back. Finally our folly dawns of us and we burst out laughing. Our reflections laugh with us.
Terror reaches out it’s non-corporal arms, freezes, and releases us. Our feet pound into the hungry earth, shadows loom, and rustles scream. Our throats are hoarse with suppressed shrieks and lack of oxygen. Like a hamster spinning madly in its wheel, my legs pump the bike peddles. Crazy eyed like a horse about to be shot we turn the corner and find my house.
It’s Saturday night. My friend, Audrey, and I take a ride on my sister’s bike. She sits in the basket behind the bike. I peddle for us both. Down the winding trail of dirt, shrubs, and cacti the big red bike nearly collapses under our weight. We walk it up the tall hill, which, when we top illuminates our school. The sun is low on the horizon. We can’t stay long.
Parking our vehicle we explore. The playground becomes a dragon, trying to capture us. We nimbly escape its clutches and taunt it by moving from monkey bars, to swings, to the climbing gym. Faltering in our mindless play we escape, and stand in a hollow to catch our breath. The depression is a short hall. It leads to the entrance to our school. The sun’s light is pale and dim. A bright light catches our eyes. The doorway has a window. Through the window we see the long hallway leading towards our computer class. Light glints enticingly from the open door leading to the computer lab. “No one’s supposed to be here,” whispers Audrey in my ear. Trickles of fear tickle my back, the hair on my arms rise. “Let’s go check out the other doors, see if they’re open,” I whisper back. We creep over to the other side of the building, peeking into the glass doors. Inside all is dark, deserted. The breeze chills our bare arms. Cautiously we approach the doors. Grasping the cold, iron handles we pull. The doors are unyielding. Relived we let out a sigh, glance up, and stare into the eyes of two raggedy men.
Terror reaches out. It’s non-corporal arms freezes, releases us. Our feet pound. Hungry earth and looming shadows. Rustles scream. Our throats are hoarse. Suppressed screams, lack of oxygen. A hamster spinning madly. My legs pump. The peddles to my bike flash. Crazy eyed. A horse about to be shot. We turn the corner and find my house.
Bursting open my front door we slam into the comforting presence of my mother. “Two men are hijacking our school and stealing our computers!” My mom, taken slightly back by our intensity, calmly replies, “It’s just your imagination. You probably just saw some of your teachers and didn’t recognize them.” Audrey and I glance at each other. We had forgotten about the teachers. They were in danger! The crazy men were probably holding them at gun point! In a flash we shot back out the door, get on my poor sister’s bike, and head back to the perilous school.
At the top of the hill our bravery falters. The school looks deserted, haunted, something that belongs in our worst nightmares. We are just two ten year old girls. What can we do? “We’re their only hope,” Audrey states soberly. I nod thinking of our homeroom teacher and how much I wanted to give her my homework on Monday. We leave the bike at the bottom of the hill. Slinking towards the school we jump at every sound and movement, ready for an insane bugler to jump out shooting. Several times we were forced to retrace our steps, feeling bodiless, hostile eyes watching us. We skulk up to the doors where we had seen the men. History had never know two braver girls. After waiting for an eternity, we rush out of the shadows and stare into the glass doors. Two people stand there staring at us. We flinch, prepared to bolt, when we realize that the people had no feet. We stare at them. They stare back. Finally our folly dawns of us and we burst out laughing. Our reflections laugh with us.
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