chortle (v): to laugh in a breathy, gleeful way; chuckle.
Worda wouldn’t normally think that bank robberies were funny, but this guy was doing it all wrong.
Sitting in the corner with her hands on her head, she couldn’t help but find amusement in the way this guy operated. He had come in — with no mask mind you — lifting his gun in the air with one hand and a knife in the other. Honestly he looked a little ridiculous as Worda waited for him to shout “I’m king of the world!”
Everyone naturally ducked down and started panicking as the single bullet rang out. An old woman had pushed Worda into the corner, giving her an excellent view as the robber made his way to the till. He would have been intimidating, had it not been for the emphasized limp causing his actions to look like he was strutting with fierce sass. Worda tried to stifle her chortling when his demands reached her ears, his voice sounding like he’d sucked a tank of helium before coming in.
“Quickly, get the money in the bag, wench lady!”
A small laugh slipped through Worda’s lips causing the robber to spin in her direction. She looked around and behind herself as if to find the culprit.
The robber looked over his group of hostages, trying to sort out who his mocker was, when an old man next to Worda shifted slightly.
Startled by the movement the robber twitched towards the man, shooting him in the foot.
Everyone screamed and panicked, including the robber. His yelp resembled that of a girl as he dropped the gun before running out of the bank, leaving the bundles of money behind.
Worda looked around at the chaos and especially the old gentleman holding his foot and felt kind of guilty now.
She would never chortle again.
© Kaitlyn Mackenzie