MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “thief”

The biscuit thief

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1b/eb/a2/1beba29125e4538a9d5eab3a85739e00.jpgHe was pint-sized and looked much younger than he really was. But that actually helped him because no one really took him for a thief.

Simon was a strange type of burglar. He would sneak into kitchens – be it of houses or of shops – and steal biscuits. Freshly-cooked-still-hot-deliciously-smelling-so-tasty cookies were his favourite.

He couldn’t help it. As soon as he sensed even the slightest smell of just-baked biscuits he had to go in. And he took a whole bunch of them with him. Simon had a sweet tooth. But he also had a compulsive urge to steal cookies. He didn’t eat them all at once. Some he even shared with other people – family, friends, even with people on the street.

In his neighbourhood, people began to search for the biscuit thief; then his activity spread throughout the city, and the news was even broadcast on TV.

But Simon was not obstructed. He continued unhindered, and un-caught. This was his thing. To find freshly made cookies and steal them to enjoy on his own time.

One day, however, he ran into the chef just at the time when he was sneaking out of a patisserie kitchen with a bag of biscuits in his hand. Both froze on the spot and stared at each other, the chef’s eyes rolling from Simon’s eyes to the bag in his hand.

“So you’re the infamous biscuit thief?” the chef finally said in a French accent.

Simon gulped. Could he go to jail for stealing biscuits?

The chef had a better proposition, though. He offered Simon the position of official biscuit-taster in the patisserie. Soon, the shop elevated to becoming the city’s best biscuit-maker and was renowned throughout the country.

Sometimes things do happen for a reason; and even if the initial reason is unclear, life has a strange way of working itself out.

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The Archer

https://lh5.ggpht.com/l9mykkNXAk5GQA2yRa3ml5CrenDBghDsjINP5cjEvy0WuPFIb4oJ7ZB1w9MLURSBp-hk=w300The bowstring tore his cheek as the arrow flung to hit the hanging branch. He was trying to outrun the voices behind him, and every few paces he would turn and try to find deterrents to block their way. It was already getting dark and it was easier now to get lost in the woods. That served to his advantage. No-one knew the forest as well as he did. It was his home.

They called him The Archer. All they really knew about him was that whatever he stole, he would replace with something else. So, for example, if he stole a loaf of bread the one day, the next he would repay with a couple of fresh apples. He didn’t want to be considered a thief after all. And he always signed his name with a capital “A”.

But no-one had ever seen him. Despite the fact that he moved among them daily.

His mother was an Amazon, tamed by a Lord. Their marriage was a demonstration of how powerful love could be. But also of how profound. For when she got sick, he drunk his fortune away, and with it his son’s future. The boy was soon orphaned and left to fight for his own survival. All he knew how to do was use a bow better than anyone. He was very young when he was forced to discover the world, and the people of the village looked upon him with a mix of pity and fear. They would give him chores and various errands to run if they had any, but the pay was minimum, if at all, and the boy could not survive on that alone.

No-one seemed to care how he managed or where he lived. That was private business, or what they described as “personal issues”.

So the boy often disappeared as quickly and as easily as he appeared.

But no-one ever associated him with The Archer. He had become a legend, a sort of myth that made the forest and the nearby village an attraction. He became the terrifying story parents threatened their children with to make them behave. He had become a ghost despite still being alive.

He carved his own bows and arrows, made his own home, and by now knew all the places food could be found in plenty. He lived poorly but managed to gain all the necessities life handed abundantly and was satisfied with how well he fared. What he hated was the look in the villagers’ eyes. As The Archer phantom, he saw fear, prejudice, and loathing. So many negative feelings for a being they hardly knew. And as the boy, their eyes reflected sorrow, shame and sometimes compassion. But that is not what he wanted. All he desired was some kindness, someone to invite him into their home and share a warm meal with him. The boy, just like The Archer, simply wanted to be accepted. But in his own eyes, that was the most difficult feat of all.

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