The Heist

          Hurling the dissecting knife that sat on the hard tiled floor Mr Amhat threw it at Ezra his blinding rage flew with it through the air plunging into Ezra’s wrist. Pain weaved through his veins, his heart like a drum beat growing louder and louder. His master’s statue lay behind him coloured in a grey paint, his wide eyes were like opening holes that lead into the endless emptiness of horror that was tucked up beneath it. 

         But there was nothing he could as his pale face stared at the body spurring him to run away and never return. Without hesitation he lifted the black and white broomstick or what it seemed to him as his world had been sucked of happiness and charged as his thoughts of running away balanced on a tight rope stretched across his mind. His joints slipping out of his ankles and his legs running in the opposite direction Ezra’s master bound with bravery sprinted at Oleg. Suddenly he stopped as the brick surface of Oleg’s chest obliged him to tremble to the ground begging for mercy. Mr Ahmat made his way to Oleg and halted him before he threw himself at Ezra’s master.

         Grasping onto the ancient Egyptian tablet that lay battered amidst all the shards of glass he snapped it in half and scraped it across the walls as the large glass jars fell down one by one clattering onto the ground fragmented into pieces. The museum master tensed his legs joints clenched tight like a greyhound’s sinews ready to pounce onto Mr Ahmat. And without any care for his like leaped onto Mr Ahmat clamped onto the cold air that emitted from the ice block that pumped hatred and blood through him. He missed. Snapping and crunching resonated in the air as streaks of blood splattered across the walls.

Mr Ahmat traipsed to landing and rummaged through his wool pocket pulling out boxes of matchsticks. Striking onto them with wooden sticks he lit a blazing hell that consumed the remnant of the museum apart from his destruction.