oneshots

The Note.

I decline the call almost immediately after I hear his lame excuse for hiding another affair.
My poor excuse of a husband has made me immune to the hardships of a middle class single working woman.
I believe there's nothing worse that could happen to me.

"what was that door-clicking  sound behind him. Is he still home?
Am I over thinking this?", I engage in small talk to amuse myself.

A painful chuckle escapes my lips as I upturn my phone to scroll down some socials, like some pictures and view some stories, so that people atleast know that I'm alive.

Almost as if the shore receives a wave, a beep penetrates my ears echoing through the shallowly-crowded street.

Who's texting me at this hour?

I swiped away the apps and landed on the new received message.

Is this your house?

"WHAT THE HELL?", I mumble.

Who is this?

My message is immediately read by the anonymous sender.

The vanilla scent smells delicious.
Wanna see me go in? Do you?

And that is when urgency hit me.
It is indeed the door to my apartment and sure as hell my vanilla scented candle was in there.
But how does this weirdo know?

Perhaps is this person.....

...

... A burglar??

The rest of the walk went by in a leap literally when I ran across the street like a maniac.
Following none of the traffic signs and breaking all rules of social decency, I even squeeze my way out of an intimate couple.

Finally reaching the entrance of my apartment building, I halt, exhaling out vigorously.

My eyes wander off upwards to my flat and my heart thumped loudly when I saw the lights on.
I'm sure the lights weren't on when
I left for work.

Before leaping in forward and storming to my flat, a white paper on the gate caught my eye.

A note.

The note says,

"Wanna play a game of tag?"

I stare at the note for a good minute.
It would be a stupid decision to face a burglar this notorious by myself.
I hurriedly dial 911 for emergency and they connect me to a nearby officer.

"Sir my house is being robbed.
There's someone inside."

"Calm down lady.. Can you give us the details?", the voice on the other side of the line echoes as if the speaker was standing in a hallway.

"um...yes...this...this is B Block Warrington street Sundew apartments 404 please h- h-.", my voice cracks as the line goes dead.

This is what I get for working overtime without sufficiently charging my phone.

Now that my device is dead, there is no way of confirming if my report has been lodged.
Had there been wake neighbors who cared about what was happening in their very building, facing a thief wouldn't feel so much of a threat as it does right now.

Entirely on my own now, I tread towards my apartment cautiously;
Eyes roaming in order to catch a glimpse of someone who would help a lady fight an intruder with no strings attached.
Perhaps a helper now, could himself become an intruder later.