There was once a thief at a market, who took as much as he could, from whoever he could.
One day, the thief saw a beautiful charm. Thick bands of leather woven together holding 3 jewels, sparkling in the sun. One amber, one green, and one blue. It sat on an old stall made of splintered wood. An elderly woman sat on a crooked stool behind it overseeing the sale of her wares. The thief saw her hand reach for some gold coin being passed over in exchange for a crow feather charm. He briefly wondered how hands as stiff and disjointed as hers could possibly create such delicate and fetching items.
Without further delay, the thief deafly swiped the jewelled charm from under the woman's nose. Greedily, he stuffed it into his pocket.
Then, he saw a fur trapper, selling pelts of rabbits, wolves, and bears. Slowly, so as not to draw unwanted attention, the thief tiptoed over to the fur-laden vendor. He was a tall, thick man - whose voice carried over the crowd easily.
“Get yer furs ‘ere - warm as the day they were cut!”
Ignoring the morbid advertisement, the thief made to grab one of the rabbit pelts, stuffing it down his shirt.
“OI Come ‘ere! You dalcop!”
The vendor roughly gripped the thief by the front of his shirt, yanking the pelt from him.
“’ow dare ye!” The man's face grew purple and swollen, his words abandoning him as he stuttered.
“Guard!” He boomed, raising the alarm of several people, who turned to stare at the spectacle. One man in metal boots trotted over, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Defer vendor launched into a loud proclamation, his beat red face spitting into the guard's own. The thief took the opportunity to discreetly stuff another rabbit pelt into his boot.
“Alright, alright, you've got yer fur back, just let the boy down and I will speak with him.”
Reluctantly, the fur vendor put the thief down, and the guard placed a hand on his shoulder, leading him to a quiet area, away from the crowds.
They stood facing one another- eyes boring through as if they could see each other's thoughts if they tried hard enough. Slowly, the guard held out his hand.
“The other one.” He stated calmly.
The thief raised his eyebrow as if to say; 'if I give it to you will you let me go?'
The guard nodded - a small motion.
The thief handed the guard the pelt. He stuffed it into his own pocket looking around as he did so.
The thief raised his eyebrow at the guard, who shooed him away quickly.
The thief began to wander the market once more. Nobles and peasants alike resided here- all with pockets to pick. The thief belonged here as the sea does to the cliffs- a slow, silent erosion.
“We just cannot do this anymore!” A wail broke through the crowd, “As soon as I have chickens to sell, they are stolen away!”
The thief found the source of the whining- a livestock seller, surrounded by wicker crates- each one clucking.
“We have to sell the farm- I have no future here,” the vendor stated sadly. He was talking to another person, but faced away as he was, the thief could not see who.
Quickly and quietly, the thief unlatched one of the crates, three eggs emerging in his hand as he did so. He stuffed them into his pockets and turned to take his leave, only to be met with two glaring green eyes.
The old woman from the charm stall stood over the thief, her arms crossed.
“Did you think I would not notice the theft of one of my precious treasures?” She asked eloquently.
The thief’s eyes glanced nervously at some nearby guards. He made to run away, darting in between the legs of the crowd. When no shout or bony hand stopped him, he turned back to face the woman, who calmly walked up to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder softly.
“I made that beautiful charm it took many hours.” She stated sadly, “But it is your nature to take, my boy, no matter from who, or what.”
The thief smiled.
“I enjoyed it while I had it,” the woman said and turned to leave- as did the boy.
A/N: This is the second piece that I have written at my writing club. Our prompt was 'Market'. We had all sorts of stories flowing but I decided on this one! A medieval metaphor market with a 600w limit (naturally I wrote 733 words anyway!).
A question for the class: Can anyone tell me what the thief represents for them? I had an idea when writing but I am curious about interpretations! I'd love to hear them <3 <3 <3
Happy writing and reading folks! -TWW
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (5)
I enjoyed your tale, but sorry… I was clueless about who/what the thief represented.🤔🥹I hoped he’d reform when the poor chook farmer was going broke or when confronted by the old lady. Maybe in time, he will consider others rather than himself. I doubt he’d like to be stolen from.😵💫
I read a thing where a thief stole from an old lady, but she was a long-distance runner in her youth. So she chased him for miles, caught up with him and grabbed her handbag back! I was hoping that your old lady was a bit more like that. Or she could cast a spell on him. I guess I'm just on the old lady's side! I wonder why? LOL. Great writing, I love it.
I just finished reading a few pieces from the Swamp community, so I got politics on the brain. I'm seeing a future politician. Take, take, take. Bribe when he gets caught, then take some more. The old women, I see as a commoner realizing they're nothing she can do.
This reminded me of Aladdin! I learned a new word from you today, dalcop!
I really liked this. Keep it going!