Tramp

The tramp looked into the window past his own reflection. His
thoughts transferred themselves to when he lived the high life.

A family, minus the man of the house, sat resting. He saw his chance to
live the high life for a while once more but could not afford to get
mixed up with the police.

Bookcases lined the walls and the family was dressed in elegant
clothing as if they were going for a night out rather than in.
The child of the house looked to the window and the tramp ducked to
avoid her face. She did not see him. Afraid to look up, he remained
sat, looking around the garden.

Time to get up after quarter of an hour, he looked in once more to an
empty room. This time, he had to try the window, had to be back in his
previous lifestyle, even if it was only for a few seconds. He wanted to
feel the warmth and elegance of a rich family.

The window moved slowly up, and he smelt the warmth of the room and
when he fully opened it, stepped inside, knowing he could face
jail.

Seeing a shadow under the closed door, he looked to where he had
entered and made his way towards it. Hearing the footsteps pass, he
went to the writing desk and jotted a note before leaving.

Having no time to close the window as quietly as he had opened it, it
slammed shut as he ran from the house and grounds. His intention upon
entering the house was to explain everything and give up his tramp
lifestyle.

Running from the grounds, he heard the door open and took a sharp turn
to the left to jump into the shadows. It was too dangerous to leave the
grounds yet and he went back to the drawing room window.

Looking in, he saw the girl read the note he wrote and felt for her as
he imagined her heart tighten before she ran from the room
crying.

Tears came into his eyes as he thought about why he had become a tramp.
He had been so bloody sure of himself when he had done it. He thought
he wouldn't have been able to murder anyone. He was almost sure the gun
was empty. 'Just a friendly game between two good friends,' he regarded
it as. Why did that one live bullet have to be in the gun, it was
supposed to be empty?

He had to tell his friend's family what had happened on that night and
could not find any courage until tonight, the anniversary of the
accident. Two months tonight, at midnight, he had taken a precious link
from the family he now watched. He had killed the man of the house, and
would forever hold that thought and continue living life as a tramp
until he could find the courage to forgive himself up and stop being on
the run.

Jail was no place for an ex-rich man like himself, but he was now as
poor as the next man. Poor and lost.