The Hidden Villain

The rain was coming down hard as I watched from my bedroom window. Lightning flashed, turning the street silver for a mere second. I loved nights like this, when everyone stayed inside and the world felt quiet. My room smelled like old books and wet grass. On my desk, I had a notebook filled with secrets that only I knew.

My neighbor, Max, always bragged about his new bike. He left it out in the yard, even when it was stormy. I could see it from my window, shining under the streetlight. Sometimes, I wondered what it would be like to ride it just once.

That night, I crept outside. My sneakers were squirming in the mud. The wind threw my hair around my face. I grabbed the bike and rolled it down the street, my heart pounding. I rode fast, faster than I ever had before. The air felt cold and sharp, and I laughed as I turned corners, leaving muddy tracks behind me.

When I got back, I wiped the bike down and left it where I found it. Nobody saw me. The next day at school, Max complained that his bike was dirty and the tires were flat. He accused the neighborhood bully of intentionally ruining his bike because he was jealous. I just shrugged and said nothing.

You see, everyone thinks the villain is someone else. But sometimes, the villain is the one telling the story.