Sleight of hand
a short story
Run, Run! That was all I could think while my breath kept rattling and throwing up puffs of wind into the cold air. Pacing like there is no end while clutching the envelope in one hand, I let my eyes look behind me. Are there people coming after me? Am I safe? Sweats of relief beaded on my face — Somehow, I had distanced myself from the bus. The bus did not stop; nobody tried to get me. That was good. I saw that the bus was already round the corner, throwing up tails of exhaust along its way. With no threat looming around, I stopped at the middle of the road and bend down from the waist as I gave up on exhaustion. However, my heart resisted slowing down. All that for the envelope in my hand. It felt sweet, though. I wouldn’t have thought some moments earlier that I could pull this off.
The old man was sitting across the aisle — his head rested on the seat in front of him. His body stooped as if his back was carrying a mountain. His spectacles lightly hanged on his pointed nose as if a small jerk would let the spectacles free themselves. The envelope in his pocket interested me. I had been following him from the bank — where he took his time to count the money and carefully placing it on the envelope — to the bus. Now the envelope was just across from me, sitting ideally on the left pocket of his trouser, luring my attention. The bus creaked and squeaked as it made its…
