Sharon’s fight or the return of the Masked Burglar
By The Masked Writer
She took the stairs briskly at first, her sandals slapping against the concrete steps as she descended. But by the time she reached the second floor, her breathing had quickened, and she felt a faint tightness in her chest. Pausing on a landing to catch her breath, she looked down at herself and felt a familiar flicker of self-consciousness.
She wore a loose cami top and a pair of denim shorts, clothes she’d chosen that morning when the day had seemed warmer and brighter. Now, with a light sheen of sweat on her skin, the cami clung a little too close to her soft midsection, and her thighs brushed together with each step down. She noticed the slight curve of her hips and the softness around her arms and legs that hadn’t been there as much a year or two ago.
“Guess I’m not as fit as I used to be,” she murmured to herself, feeling an uncomfortable pang as she thought of how her body had changed. She’d put on about twenty pounds since the beginning of her college years, and though she tried not to dwell on it, sometimes, like now, she felt painfully aware of every inch. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the nagging insecurity, and continued down the stairs at a slower pace.
By the time she finally made it to the bottom, she was feeling slightly winded, her cheeks a bit flushed. As she stepped outside, she took a moment to steady her breathing before heading toward her bus stop, telling herself it was just a bit of extra weight and nothing to worry about.
After the bus ride, Sharon arrived at her quiet neighborhood, where the familiar sight of her house finally came into view. She felt a bit better just seeing it—home was her sanctuary, a place where she could let her guard down without the pressure of others’ eyes on her.
Sharon opened the front door, letting out a small sigh as she finally stepped into the quiet house. She was a tall, willowy young woman, standing at 5’9” with delicate features framed by long blonde hair that she often twisted up into a loose bun. She carried herself with a certain grace, though she’d recently noticed her body had softened, her once-slender frame now bearing an extra twenty pounds, mostly around her hips and midsection. She tried not to think about it too much, but the fact lingered in the back of her mind, especially when comparing herself to others. She preferred to be alone, where she didn’t have to worry about those insecurities.
But tonight, the empty house held an unexpected danger.
As Sharon stepped in, the relief of being home was shattered when she noticed a dark figure moving by the open window. Her heart leapt to her throat as she realized it was a woman dressed in a sleek, black leotard that hugged a muscular, athletic body, her face hidden behind a mask. The intruder barely reacted when she noticed Sharon standing there.
Sharon’s fear was quickly replaced by anger. She wasn’t going to let some stranger walk in and help herself to her family’s belongings. Without thinking, she charged forward, hoping to catch the burglar by surprise.
But the burglar’s reaction was immediate. She stepped back with a mocking smirk, watching Sharon’s clumsy approach. “Oh, so you want to play hero?” she sneered, dodging Sharon’s first swing with a practiced, almost lazy sidestep.
Sharon’s frustration flared as her fist cut through empty air. She turned quickly, throwing another punch, her opponent was faster—her hand shot out, catching Sharon’s wrist, and twisting it sharply. Sharon gasped at the pain, but she tried to pull her hand free.
The burglar chuckled; her voice filled with a sadistic amusement. “Wow, you really thought you could take me on with those noodle arms?” She twisted Sharon’s wrist a little harder, forcing Sharon to gasp again. “I’ve fought old ladies with more fight in them.”
Sharon gritted her teeth, trying to pull away, but the burglar only tightened her grip, pushing Sharon back until her shoulders hit the wall. Before Sharon could react, the woman lifted her knee and hit Sharon’s stomach. The impact knocked the air out of her, leaving her gasping and doubled over in pain.
“Come on,” the burglar mocked, patting Sharon on the back with exaggerated pity. “That all you’ve got? That’s not even a fight. It’s embarrassing.”
Sharon’s face flushed with frustration and shame, but she refused to give up. Her limbs still shaking, she pushed herself back up, throwing herself at the burglar with everything she had. She tried to grab the woman’s arm, hoping to pull her off balance, but her grip was weak and clumsy, and the burglar easily slipped free.
With a swift motion, the burglar grabbed a handful of Sharon’s hair, yanking her head back. Sharon cried out in pain. The burglar leaned closer and talked with a voice dripping with disdain. “A little tip, sweetheart: if you want to fight, you should first try hitting the gym occasionally. You’re so soft you should be ashamed.”
Before Sharon could reply, the burglar shoved her, sending her stumbling back. Sharon tried to steady herself, but the woman moved in again, delivering a sharp slap across her face. Sharon felt a stinging pain spread across her cheek, and tears sprang to her eyes as she staggered, humiliated and helpless.
“Oh, did that hurt?” the burglar cooed, her tone mocking and delighted. “Poor little princess!” She laughed, watching Sharon’s every move with a gleeful satisfaction.
Despite the pain, Sharon refused to back down. She lunged forward, trying to land a punch, but her movements were slow, and the burglar dodged easily, catching Sharon’s wrist, and twisting her arm behind her back. Sharon cried out as her shoulder strained painfully, feeling a helpless frustration rise in her chest.
“Pathetic,” the burglar sneered, pressing Sharon’s arm up higher until she could feel the burning pain in her shoulder.
Sharon felt a surge of despair. She was pinned, her body aching from the relentless assault, and no matter how hard she tried to fight back, the burglar only was enjoying herself more. She tried to twist out of the woman’s hold, only making the pain worse, her muscles straining uselessly against an iron grip.
With a sadistic chuckle, the burglar released Sharon’s arm just long enough to shove her forward, sending her stumbling to the floor. Sharon barely had time to catch herself before the burglar’s foot came down on her back, pinning her down with surprising force.
“Stay down, sweetheart,” the masked woman taunted, pressing her heel into Sharon’s spine until she gasped in pain. “You’re just making a fool of yourself now. Look at you—all soft and helpless. And you thought you could stop me?” Each word was dripping with scorn.
Humiliated and exhausted, Sharon struggled to push herself up, but her arms shook, and her body felt heavy, aching from the bruises and the strain of the fight. She wanted to keep going, it only amused the burglar more, who watched her efforts with a twisted smile.
“Aww, you still think you can fight?” the burglar mocked, stepping back to let Sharon struggle to her knees, only to deliver a swift kick to her ribs. Pain exploded in Sharon’s side, and she collapsed to the floor again, gasping for breath. “Face it,” the burglar said, kneeling beside her and patting her cheek with a condescending smirk, “you’re just a soft little nobody who’s in way over her head. You’re born to be a victim.”
Sharon’s vision blurred with tears, her body throbbing with pain, her heart sinking in humiliation. She had tried everything, but it wasn’t enough. She was no match for the burglar, who looked down at her with a mixture of amusement and contempt.
As the burglar straightened up and began to collect valuables from around the room, Sharon could only lie there, bruised, defeated, and helpless. The cruel laughter of the woman echoed in her ears as she left through the window, leaving Sharon alone with nothing but the bitter taste of her own powerlessness.
The End
