Glen Delcraft: Mindful Murder

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.

"Listen, James!" Mark had replied. "We're not here to eat ourselves sick, we're here to find whoever has, 'Mission Marson' on their search history. Absolutely NOBODY can discover what it is. At least nobody what we've already captured." And that's when they both heard a 'THUMP' coming from down the hallway, from Glen's room. Mark put his finger to his lips, grasped his gun, and slowly started tiptoeing down the hallway towards Glen's room.

Glen had just gotten up out of his chair with a plan in mind on how to distract the thieves, when his shoe had gotten stuck in the pair of jeans he hadn't put in the laundry yet. They were laying on the floor. Glens shoe got stuck, and, WHOMP! Glen fell and hit the floor.

He could hear the men quietly walking towards his room, and knew he was doomed. He was still laying helplessly on the floor, what could he possibly do to make sure these thieves didn't harm him- or worse, kill him? He was in plain sight, and if he moved and tried to get his shoe uncaught in the jeans, he would make noise and that would confirm the men knew he was in the room.

BOOM! The door flew open.

Nothing.

"Alright, there's nothing in here." James said as he took a quick look, and tried exiting the room.

Mark stopped him. "We can't just blow off every room in the house like this. We need to look more carefully. You, go search the master bedroom, I'll search everywhere else." The two men left the room, and continued to search.

Glen sighed in relief, and rolled away from beside his mahogany bed. Mahogany was a brown color, And thank God for my brown hair, brown shirt, and dark colored jeans. Glen thought. Had the men looked more carefully, they would have easily found Glen. But they had been tricked by one of the most simple illusions- camouflage.

Glen pulled the jeans off of the bottoms of his shoes, and tiptoed out of his room, as he heard the two men knocking everything over that had been in the other rooms of the house. He reached his rifle, and brought it down off of the holder. And that's when his idea came into play.

Glen walked through the remains of the door the men had destroyed, and outside. There, with his rifle, he kneeled behind a rock and took aim through a window. The window leading into the master bedroom.

Glen saw James rummaging through what looked like closets, for he thought somebody might have been hiding in there from them. And he took aim, right towards James's abdomen. And fired.

The bullet soared through the window, and shattered it to pieces. Then, it buried itself down into the bottom of James's stomach. The man fell, quickly dying.