Out on a whim

It happened. The electricity was switched off. The bills had not been paid for months. Mr.
Smith, at 79 years old had been unable to pay his bills since his wife passed away and he no
longer had her pension to help cover the costs. He was barely able to pay for his groceries.
Leaning back in his creaking rocking chair, he began to toy with the idea of robbing a bank.

A criminal record did not matter at this age. The only thing that mattered to the old man was
reuniting with his buddies Fred and Ted and having a bed. That seemed like the best life he
could ever have. And why not live the best life I possibly can, the old man thought whilst
drinking his newly made cup of cold tea. He thought of the possibility to finally not have to
care about the electricity bills. His ego was building a feeling of longing for freedom. He was
fed up with the government not giving the money he and many pensioners deserved.

He pulled his brown cap over his semi-bald head and put his dark green coat on. He placed a
silver gun in the chest pocket. He left the apartment and strutted down the stairs of the
apartment building although he had always had a horrible limp.

Around the corner he saw his goal, the bank. Approaching the bank his nerves came into play.
He felt the sweat forming under the woollencap and his ability to think straight was
disappearing rapidly. Pulling the mighty gold doors of banks front entrance, he dried his
clammy hand as he opened with the cold doorhandle as pulled it open. There is no way I can
mess this up, he thought to himself. He walked to the closest queue to meet a teller.

“Hello, how can I help you sir?” the teller said with a soft voice.

“Oh, yeah um I would like to check my balance please?” he answered with an unsure voice.

She stood up and walked around the teller wall and pushed the poor old man over. His gun
went flying out of his inside pocket and his bodyweight crushed his limping leg. The teller got
a fright when she saw the gun.

“Why did you do that?” the old man said, groaning.

“You asked me to check your balance, didn’t you?” she said with a surprised tone.

He wobbled up on his feet and brushed his coat off.

“Aren´t you too old for these kinds of toys?” the teller commented whilst she handed him his
gun.
The old man snatched the gun and walked out with a bigger limp than before and grumbled all
the way home. The now bitter old man did not know what had just happened, he thought it
was childish and awfully contemptuous. The old man decided to call the bank and admit that
he tried to rob the bank.

“Hello?”

“Hello, how can I help you sir?”

It was the same soft voice that now screamed of horror.

“Hello, I am the old man you pushed over today” he said confronting.

“Oh, yes?” she sounded ready to defend herself

“Yeah, I would like to confess I tried to rob you” he said with his deep voice.

The teller did not respond, the next thing the old man could hear was the beeping noise from
the phone, the teller had hung up. It did not go as he had thought. He sat down on his brown
corduroy sofa, observing his 30 square meter apartment that he knew he would soon leave.
Whilst sitting on his sofa, staring at the door the door was smashed open. The old man did not
move an inch. The police stormed in and arrested him, he had already confessed so shortly
after he was put into prison.

His cell was big enough to fit a sink and three beds. When he entered the cell, he was greeted
by his cellmates, Fred and Ted.