The Encounter

• Kathryn Rendulic, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2020

The silence was deafening. Myra’s hoarse breath rattled through the thin air. She breathed not quickly, as one who was about to attempt a robbery in the dead of night should, but instead at a steady pace, for she was now so used to her often midnight heists that breaking into the bakery no longer fazed her.

The building had a certain charm to it, but maybe it was just the lack of security measures that won the girl over. Myra pulled her ragged hood over her golden, though dirty, blonde hair and stepped to the door, noticing with satisfaction that once again, the careless owner of the bakery had forgotten to lock up. She hummed a fragile tune to herself, her voice husky and soft, as she entered. Perhaps she was being too rash, and without concern over the risk of getting caught, but Myra had wit, and she was far from idiocy.

She stopped dead as the scrape of a weapon being released from its scabbard rang out clearly in the evening air. It was unmistakable. Myra knew that instant she was head-high in trouble. She felt the air begin to escape from her lungs, forcing her to heave in deep breaths to suppress the suffocating feeling that grew inside her, making her chest unusually tight. Her eyes scanned the room feverishly, her pulse spiking to new heights, but she could see nothing, everything was engulfed in pitch-black darkness. The thrumming in her chest made her feel as if her heart was going into overdrive. Instinctively, she felt her hand go to her coat pocket, where she usually kept her small old silver knife, in case of an emergency such as this. But it wasn’t there. She felt a sinking feeling settle in her stomach as the realisation dawned on her that she had been so confident she had forgotten to remember her one measly form of defence. Foreboding took an icy grip on her heart.

Myra had never been caught before. What made this robbery any different? Who was here? And at such an impossibly unlucky time?

A symphony of purposeful footsteps rang out and Myra to feel her body go rigid with terror. It was as if her feet had been suddenly glued to the spot, and the rest of her body frozen in time. Her eyes, glazed with fear, drifted toward the noise. She almost didn’t want to see who had come to end her miserable life of crime.

A boy stepped from the shadows. He was armed.

Suddenly, he smiled and nodded to her, as if he were recognising her as an equal. He withdrew his blade and moved forward to liberate a large loaf of bread that sat on display just beyond the bakery’s front window and slid it into his own pack, motioning with a jerk of his head for her to do the same.

Together, like conspirators, they stole out into the dim light of early morning and fled, laughing.