Lucre

    Death crept through the house like a slippery snake, bodies rolling from their beds and quietly landing on cold marble floors. The alarm was blaring, and Avel was sure that all of the neighbors were up as well. He took the shotgun from under his mattress and prepared to fight his way out.
    With the speed of a leopard, the perpetrator slipped into the room. Darkness hid his face, but his pearly teeth shone clear as a lighthouse in a storm. Avel was soaked in sweat, and his fingers shook against the cold, hard weapon in his hand. He shakily aimed and fired, but the thief managed to dodge. He aimed again, and suddenly the man was beside him. A cold, sharp object was pressed against his throat.
    "Where is the vault?"
    Avel was not about to tell him, even if it meant his own death. He pulled the trigger, shot the man in the leg, and started sprinting. He had no time to check on his daughters, but thanked God again and again for putting his wife on a business trip.
    “I will find you!” called the man hoarsely behind him.
    Avel was in the front yard when the cop cars arrived. He fell to his knees and let the wet grass seep through his night clothes. He let his eyes water the lawn a good deal more.

The End

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