Ninety-two

A skinny man who looked to be in his early thirties sat over a table and hit his skinny legs on the floor board by the foot of the table. He was wearing a white baggy shirt that had “Yawed Oat” on it. The floor board flew up and he caught it ever so swiftly before it could make contact with the floor and make a cacophony. He didn't want anyone to know what he was doing.

He took out three more floor boards in the same manner and what was once an array of floorboards was now a dark gaping hole that threatened to swallow anyone that attempted to trespass it. He looked through the three windows of the room and when he saw that no one was around the vicinity, he folded the sleeves of his shirt.

He jumped into the space where the floor boards were once taking up. Landing swiftly on a cemented floor and instead of the eerie silence that was heard above, the anguished cries of a child reached his ears. He groaned with a huge frown on his bony face, why was she still crying? Didn't she fall