Atlantis Found
Micro heist
Sepia eyes watched, her partner causing an excellent distraction. Wrapped in matte black, she moved; a ripple in time, fluid and invisible a wraith.
Hall extending with doors on each side. Cheap carpet silently crunched under her flat boots. Second to last door on the right, the one door needing security. The one that held sole entry to the auxiliary vault where "The Atlantean Heart" sat.
Checking the digital readout, the micro thermal scanner detected no heat signatures. Another moment and a few clicks, the door , not secured with anything more than a common lock, opened with a tiny 'click' and little effort.
A semi-circle desk sat, closed circuit monitors each showing rooms in the building. Her partner had drawn a large crowd, response to her scene. Expeditiously, feet traveled and hands worked, disarming the vault's leaded door.
Mildly intrigued, her mind wandered to the gem. An ultra rare blue diamond. In a polished, abalone shell sat a brilliant, colorless stone in a vague heart shape. Superb and flawless.
Letting nothing impede her task, alarms deactivated, the stone found home in her tiny crossbody close to her side. Safely stowed until her rendezvous to return it to her mother.
About the Creator
Bianca Hubbard
"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect." --Anaïs Nin
I love to write, read, and laugh! I can be found reading fanfiction, spending time with my nieces and nephews or relaxing with my cat after work.
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More stories from Bianca Hubbard and writers in Fiction and other communities.
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Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The porch swings as the wind chimes tune their pipes, preparing for the soiree to begin. Lounging lazily astride the banister, her back rested against the house while she waits. The streetlights flickered like neon signs on corner store windows, a beacon to gather nightlife and quietly advertise their wares. Tiny mushroom like fungi appeared on the trees lining the street as little fair ones came out and plopped down the spotted tops until they reached ground below.
By Bianca Hubbardabout a year ago in Fiction
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins6 days ago in Fiction
Create Your Personal Vocal Homepage
I'm not a Vocal Newbie (not that there's anything wrong with that), and I'm technologically comfortable. But, I'm also perhaps too comfortable. I think I know, even if I know that I don't know what I don't know, I still think I know more that I do know.
By Judey Kalchik 6 days ago in Writers
Comments (1)
Great story. Congratulations on your win