Glen was never sure when the right time was. And this lack of skill was really hurting him right now. Hunting was never anything he was good at.
He loaded his gun. He had decided to go hunting alone this time, a very dangerous risk he was willing to take if it meant earning him some respect in his family. No skill at aiming, the more you were looked down upon.
The bear sniffed, then looked up, as if it had known it was being watched. Then again, it had heard Glen's gun. And Glen fired.
Glen Delcraft was twelve years old. A happy kid who lived in the country part of New York. He was kind of slow, and never really knew when to make the right move at the right time.
He came in and slammed the door behind him angrily. Bad hunting day.
"Where have you been?!" His mother asked angrily. "I've been looking all over for you." Thats when she saw him hang the rifle above the front door. "You weren't out hunting were you?"
Glen didn't answer. He just silently walked to his room, and closed the door, this time more gently.
About ten minutes later, Glen's mom announced that she was leaving for the grocery store, and that she would be back in about an hour. Glen would be home alone. Yes, he thought to himself.
Glen's room had been very well kept. His computer was sitting on his desk, all of his clothes were out away nicely- except for those jeans he wore the other day. He still needed to put those in the laundry they were laying messily on the floor. Glen walked over to his computer, and opened up the Internet. He searched, "CIA." Glen had just recently learned what the CIA was, and was quite interested. He even sort of wanted to be a spy himself.
He searched around the site. Then he found the history of past succeeded missions that had been closed, or basically just finished. They were history now. Let's see... He thought to himself as he was scrolling through the list. One page, two pages, soon he had looked over twelve pages of succeeded missions. Then came the last one.
It had been called: Mission Marson.
And it had been labeled as: Classified, and it didn't have the picture of the stamp confirming it was completed.
Glen started reading over its description.
That was when Glen started some Internet research on so called, "Mission Marson." There was no intel on it at all, or at least none that he could find. And what was "Marson" anyways?
That was when he heard a REALLY loud crashing noise. It sounded like splintering wood. And that's exactly what Glen had thought. And he had been correct. He heard two people, whom of which Glen had never heard speak before, their accents sounded very foreign.
"Yes! The GPS said that it was location 99651! This has to be the house!"
They have to be some sort of burglars. Thought Glen, frozen in fear. What should he do? Would they have guns?
"I do remember clearly that the GPS said it was this location, but there was no car in the driveway, and so far, nobody is screaming." another voice said, this one sounded English.
"Maybe this will make them start screaming." the first voice said. It was clearly Australian. All of the sudden, the open fire of a machine gun could be heard echoing throughout the walls of the house.
And yet Glen was still frozen, scared stiff as he was sitting in his desk chair. So they did have guns! And what GPS we're they talking about? No, forget GPS's. Those aren't important right now. What was important was the fact that a pair of burglars had just broken into Glens home, and he had nobody else with him. What would he do? Then he remember back to just about a half an hour ago. Hunting. They had guns... Well, two can play at this game. Glen thought.
His rifle was still hanging above the front door, or the entrance to their home. How would he get it if the burglars were there now? I have to move them to a different part of the house.... He thought, suddenly feeling an adrenaline rush. This was like those scenes that you always see in movies. Just like Home Alone. Thought Glen.
He sat as still as possible, trying not to make any noises as he thought, but was disrupted by the sound the the people who had just entered his home, rummaging through what sounded like the pantry in the kitchen.
"Hey, Mark! Come here!" said the one with the English accent. "Look, I found some cinnamon roll-" he was cut off.