Today we're going to revisit the first line prompt. I'll give you the start of your first line and you take it from there, in whatever direction you choose, poetry or prose.
Here you go: The burglar moved through the house...
More painting done this afternoon, leaving only one last coat of paint on one wall for tomorrow morning. Kat and I also had our first meal in the cabin, as we warmed up our lunch in the oven and sat at our freshly moved in dinner table in our freshly moved in chairs.
Flooring tomorrow night!
The burglar moved through the house, wincing as his erratic heartbeat seemed to echo off the walls. His bare palms were slick with sweat and he wiped them on his pant legs as he came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Peering up into the darkness, he listened intently but heard no signs of movement. Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, he carried on into the living room.
He wished a flashlight had been allowed but the rules were firm: no lights, no weapons, no gloves. Just get in, get the goods, and get out. It was up to him to figure out how to do that without leaving any fingerprints.
Sliding one foot in front of the other, he made his way across the hardwood floor. He resisted the temptation to look out the front window, knowing that they'd be watching and waiting to pick him up once the job was done. It wasn't lost on him that they would be gone at the first whiff of the cops.
His mother had warned him to stay away from them but what choice did he have? His family needed the money to avoid getting kicked out of their apartment and reputable employers weren't exactly knocking the door down to offer him a decent job.
He forced himself to focus on the present as he eased the painting off the wall to reveal the safe it had been concealing. They'd provided him with the combination, though he had no idea how they'd gotten a hold of it. He told himself it didn't matter as he turned the dial with trembling fingers.
As the safe clicked open the alarm shrieked through the house. He grabbed the envelope lurking inside and ran for the door as footsteps sounded on the floorboards overhead.
He was reaching for the door handle when the first bullet tore through the back of his left leg.