(Class IX Story Writing Competition: One of the Best Three Stories)Ayush Baweja, Class IX G
It was a beautiful Sunday morning. I was as excited as could be and could hardly wait to break the news to my grandmother. I left the house with my briefcase. Inside the briefcase was a single document – a contract from Mr. Sinclaire, Chicago’s biggest crime boss. He had called on me to be the getaway driver for a bank heist. A single mission from Don Sinclaire would pay enough to support my grandmother and me for years. I rushed to her and excitedly told her that our days of suffering were about to end. Ever since the accident killed my parents, she was forced to work long hours in the nearby factory. I jubilantly described my meeting with the Don and the contract. Yet, she did not reciprocate my elation.
Instead, she stared at me disapprovingly. Her deep, dark eyes bore into mine. She spoke with strict authority – “No”. I was taken aback. Clearly she didn’t understand the magnitude of the job. I tried explaining it to her, but she wouldn’t budge. She said that she would rather work till she died than live on stolen money. ‘She’s going senile’, I thought. This small setback wouldn’t come in between me and my money.
The night of the heist arrived. I drove the car swiftly through the night. Once we reached the bank, the men got out and inconspicuously extracted the money. No evidence was left behind. A clean job. We quickly left to escape. We were done. Easy money. But just as we turned the corner, I was blown out of my wits. In front of me were several policemen behind a number of police cars – all armed and in the center of all that was none other than my own grandmother!
I got out of my car, with my hands up, towards my grandmother, with a look of rage and that’s when she told me something I had never known. She said, “Your parents did not die in an accident; they were murdered. They were thieved of their lives.” I realized what I had done. I had committed a great mistake. The killer thieved lives and I had thieved money. I was no different from the killer. I regretted my decision and accepted my punishment. The day had taught me something – a drop of honey is better than a pound of guilty poison.
