The rain was still pouring softly, soaking her ragged clothes as Marie pressed her hands against the backyard window. Was he home yet? The girl walked around the perimeter of the house, between the bushes, procuring to stay away from sight. She could not risk getting caught. Having settled behind a shrub of adequate height, Marie dedicated a few hours to observe the windows of the upper floor. Despite the bitter cold, she stood motionless, numbed. The only body part that would have looked human for an incautious passerby were her eyes. That dreadful, fixated stare, piercing through the glasses, trying to catch a glimpse of movement inside the house.
Finally, the wait was over. Marie let out a silent sigh. The left window, the one that probably corresponded to his bedroom, lighted on for about half an hour and then went out. Guess it was bedtime for a hard worker. Nightly shadows now covered Marie's figure, as she slowly started moving towards the backyard door, one inch at a time. One can never be too careful.
After getting close enough, Marie clung to the wall of the facade, hiding. Warily, she slid one hand up to grab the doorknob, turning it, and entered the place. There were the wooden stairs, and she prayed, to a God she didn't believe in, that they wouldn't make a sound as she stepped on. One inch at a time. There was his bedroom, wooden doors wide open, right in front of her. Another soundless gasp escaped her mouth, almost with relief, when she saw his shape under the bedsheets.
Marie's hand now slid to the inside of her waterproof purse, reaching a small bottle. She let the liquid pour on the floor. It was too late; no reason to care much for noise now. The empty bottle, currently useless, dropped on the hardwood flooring. Marie took the matchbox out of her bag, trembling in excitement as she pulled out the matches. She lightened them all at once and threw them in the air, screaming to wake him up.
She knew just how much he loved staring at fireflies.
Thank you, 