Balls of Paint
She tucked the gun tightly under her arm. She glanced left and right, and then carefully crept towards the end of the corridor.
She froze when she heard a noise. It was a small, barely audible creak. She glanced behind her. No one there. She looked down, and then realized that she had stepped on the loose floorboard that her Dad had resolved on fixing ages ago, but never had come around to do it.
Silently cursing her father's laziness, she moved ahead, even more cautious now.
She knew he was too clever and smart for her. He knew the best hiding places in the house, and she had next to no chance of beating him.
But still she moved on. She turned left at the end of the corridor and entered the living room. She crouched down quickly behind the sofa. With her nose to the ground, she scanned the room to see any moving black boots, and saw that there weren't any. The coast was clear for now.
She was deciding where to search next when -
She jumped a mile and almost dropped her gun. When the echo died down, she realized where it had come from.
A door had slammed shut somewhere from above. Probably one of the upstairs bedrooms, she thought.
Yes, that had to be it. He was upstairs. She wondered how he could've made the mistake of making such a loud noise, but he had certainly given himself away. She was sure of his being upstairs.
She rushed up the stairs as silently as she could, now unafraid of anyone creeping up on her. As soon as she reached the landing, she turned to the right where her bedroom was-
A big ball of light pink paint hit her squarely on the chest. Before she could fully process what was happening, splatters of pink colour had covered her face and arms. From her waist up, she looked like a particularly big piece of candy floss.
Her jaw dropped. A tall man, with dark hair and twinkling dark eyes so strikingly like hers, stood in front of her, leaning in a relaxed manner against the door frame of her room.
"Gotcha, darling," he said triumphantly, holding up his paint gun.
She couldn't believe it. He had won again. He had her fooled her once again.
When he saw that she was truly upset, his face softened and he approached her gently saying, "Oh, honey, it's just a game-"
The rest of his words were drowned as he was face was hit by thick blue paint. He seemed too astonished to respond for a moment. She gave a sly smile and said, "What were you saying, Dad?"
He shook his head mischievously and said, "This is war." He sprayed his daughter with yellow paint, and she responded by doing the same.
The next thing they knew, they were rolling on the floor laughing and covered in different colours.
And the game of paintball ended just the way it always did.
I don't know why I wrote this; it just came to me out of the blue. I have very weird muses sometimes. Anyways, it's my first story here, so review? :)