Short Story #7
As silent as the turning of a page of a well-read book, he stayed low, on the balls of his feet, surveying the dark apartment. It was big on the outside, but inside reeked of poverty and this displeased him. Embracing the darkness like an eternal lover, he pulled the cloak around him and stares cold daggers from the bedroom entrance at the lone occupant in the bed.
There was nothing worth stealing, except, of course, the soul of the woman sleeping soundlessly underneath the tattered blanket.