Pickpocket

I heard the thunder strike again and it was followed by the sound of my teeth chattering. I could hear the wind howling and the rain falling, but I felt nothing. I was numb from head to toe and my body was freezing. The ridiculous excuse for a blanket that I was cocooned in, didn’t help much either. I was sure that I was going to come down with Hypothermia or something far worse. The thought itself cheered me up a bit. I was going to die and I knew it.

 

Much later, on the same night, I felt my body being shaken awake. Whoever it was, removed the soaked blanket from over my face and leaned down to whisper in my ear- “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” I wanted to answer him but it seemed as if my brain had completely shut down and refused to operate. Whoever the intruder was, sighed. And moments later, I felt my limp body being raised from the cold pavement I had been lying on. This was all I remembered before being swallowed by blissful darkness.

 

When I got my senses back, I was warm and very comfortable. Comfortable? My body jerked upright in panic. And that’s when I noticed the bed. I looked around and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Where the hell am I? In the same moment, the door swung open. I screamed and ran to a corner of the room. The old man at the doorway seemed shocked by my response to him and raised his hands above his head as if to say- ‘Look, I don’t have any weapons with me! I’m not going to hurt you!’ My heart beat returned to it’s normal pace and I hesitantly took a step forward. At this he smiled kindly at me and that’s when I knew that I was safe. And I was right.

 

The old man adopted me and I became his only family. Every night he used to sit by me and tell me stories about his life. And I told him about mine. I bared my entire soul to him. I told him how my parents fled, leaving me alone to fend for myself. I told him about how my only possessions were stolen from me and how I entered the criminal life that I used to live. I told him about how I was taught to use my skillful fingers to pick pockets. He seemed pleasantly intrigued by my stories and he even went as far as asking me to teach him the act of picking pockets. He is my father and my angel. He showed me the right way and gave me the love I had always been deprived of. This, folks, is a story of a pickpocket with a happy ending.