Here’s a short story that may turn into a novel:

I looked at the rising sun. I was young, yet I knew what it meant; another day filled with hiding, crime, and running away.

“Camille!” my brother called.

I stared at the beautiful orange ball of fire for a moment longer before running into the abandoned house. Canton and I had found the house a couple days ago while we were running from a crime we had committed.

I was six whereas Canton was eleven, we had another sister in between us, but I wouldn’t let my thoughts stray that way, it was too painful. My brother and I were both child geniuses. We both were running from the police, though they didn’t know that they were chasing us.

Inside Canton was taking a bag of chips, some cookies, and a bottle of lemonade from a plastic grocery bag.

“Did you enjoy outside?” Canton asked.

I nodded. Canton knew I rarely talked.

As we sat and ate our meal I once again observed the house. From what I knew this house had been abandoned for seventeen years. When we arrived the door had been ajar and most of the windows had been broken, leaving the interior exposed to the harsh Oregon weather. Paint was peeling and the little furniture that was left had long ago been covered with mold and rotted.

A banging sound came from the front door. “Police! Open up!”

Canton silently stood up and took my small hand in his. We crept towards the back door. Shifting shadows were created by the sun, the police had the back door covered too. We had gone over the drill many of times, no matter where we were staying. I slipped up the creaking stairs, I was thankfully I was a tiny girl, small for my age.

As I was climbing up the stairs to the second level my soft blonde hair slipped out of it’s ponytail holder. I stopped. I couldn’t leave the band behind, it was Ashley’s. I stooped down and slid the band over my wrist and continued up the stairs.

Downstairs the door burst open. I rushed as fast as I dared. When I finally arrived I went to the farthest window in the room and tried to unlock it but it wouldn’t budge. I jiggled it a few times and the lock broke with a pop. I hastily pushed open the window, thankfully it didn’t have a screen. Then I crawled through to the roof.

I lay down on the roof hoping my pink leggings wouldn’t be noticed. I held back a sob. I had lost Ashley to our life of crime, and now I might lose Canton.

“Clear!” someone called from the first floor.

At least Canton was okay for the moment. We had both grown accustomed to our lifestyle. My third grade teacher I had three years ago had said to put my ingenuity to good use, but that all changed when mom and dad died… No! I wouldn’t enter that corner either.

A moist hand grabbed mine. I nearly jumped, but didn’t. I turned to see Canton laying on the roof beside me.

“Just stay still, they’ll be gone in a moment,” Canton assured me quietly.

I nodded and pulled his hand to my cheek. He was the only surviving family member that I had, and I was his. We both had each other and we both had agreed to this life of running and crime.

After nearly half and hour the police left. We lay for another ten minuets just to be on the safe side. When Canton seemed absolutely certain that we would be safe to move we both sat up. The sun was now higher in the sky, but not yet at it’s peak of it’s course.

“I managed to get your backpack,” Canton said. I looked him over but didn’t see it. Seeing my confused face he said, “I hid it, but it’s safe.”

I petted one of the cats on my tunic. Tears coursed from my eyes, over my cheeks, and dripped onto the cat’s black face.

“You know they probably took the food. We’ll need to get more,” Canton said. He got up and entered the window that I had gotten out of.

I followed him. When he said that we needed to get more he didn’t mean to walk into a story and buy some like a normal person; he meant we needed to steal from yet another small convenience store.

When we both were downstairs I slipped my equally as sweaty hand into his. He walked to a sofa that was covered in green fuzz. He peeled back the fabric with one hand, his other still held mine. When he had pulled back the already ripped material he let go of my hand and reached in, pulling out a small pink backpack covered in buttons.

“Here,” he said handing me the bag.

I took it, unzipped it, and looked inside. The bag held five hundred dollars cash, my teddy bear Honey, and a small book with pictures peeking out from some of the pages.

I pulled a picture from the book. As I looked at it tears coursed down my cheeks again. The picture showed an eight-year-old girl hugging an Australian Shepard. The girl was my sister, Ashley, and her dog, Grackle; the photo was taken two years ago.

“We’ll be okay, Camille. But for right now we need to get going before the police come,” Canton said running his fingers through my hair.

Putting the photo back in the book I nodded. We both walked outside putting on faces filled with confidence. The number one rule about crime that I had learned in my six years, other then don’t get caught, is look confident. If you look slightly guilty then you’re automatically a suspect. So Canton and I walked outside and down the dirt road. All around were meadows, though woods were a couple hundred yards away, but going into the trees would look suspicious.

We grasped each others hands and walked down the road towards who knows where.