Drabble

By Cricket

He was nauseated in weak. Swifty… Daniel thought vaguely. That’s what he would be called now. Many of the other street kids he knew began to call him by that name. His sister would never find out, she would continue to think that her brother somehow begged enough money to buy their food each night and continue to think that he was not a pickpocket.

Swifty the Rake.

A wave of fatigue hit the boy, and he fell to his knees. He had worked too hard and eaten too little. His sister was safe, his sister was fine.

A young man, not incredibly wealthy, but obviously very well off stood at a market stand.

Daniel stood up slowly, eyeing the older boy’s pockets. A gold pocket watch hung at the wealthier man’s waist. The number one prize.

Daniel stepped casually forward in his too-big shoes. He had stolen them off a clothing line not too long beforehand. As he slipped by the man, he discreetly moved his hand to the pocket where the watch was held. A small pull and—

It would not move. Of course, attached to an article of clothing was how many wore such accessories. Daniel did not know. For the year he had been scraping and stealing, never before had he thought to take a pocket watch. And it was to be his downfall.

The gentleman gave a jump, and Daniel reacted as hastily as he could. I am fast, Daniel thought to himself, I am Swifty.

But he was not fast enough. The young gentleman grabbed Daniel by the wrist. “Officer!” The man shouted. “There is a thief!”

An officer standing nearby heard the cry and assessed it. A young street rat, stealing. On a normal day he would ignore the scum of the street, but as this one was committing such a terrible act, action was to be taken.

He roughly grabbed the boy, who put up a fight.

To the Refuge, the place Daniel heard only in horror-tales told by the other boys. Daniel was to go the Refuge.

Calling for his sister—for understanding was futile. Daniel was dragged off with his struggle with the same bitter thought.

Swift, but not fast enough.