Tradition

Ancestral farm

Children sort stones,

Good from evil

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A great theif

I, an accomplished thief, do not steal because I greed, or envy the men behind their walls or fine fabrics. I steal because it makes for good story telling.

I trespass on principle. And of course on great and virtuous aims.

My job is to rescue. I enter homes, battle great gaurdian demons of suspicion, and seduce vaults to save defenseless gems from their imprisonment. Their lives, henceforth, of fast hands and shadowed passage make for far more fitting tales for such prizes.

Every stone valued behind some hero’s quest to retrieve them. Every rock growing more coveted once it’s gone, holding their masters in an unbreakable grip that men may only dream of.

Stagnant

It was cold like a night under storm clouds, near farmland and distant houses you could hear over crickets. But this was far from home, far from the insect life and green walls.

The bus stations was not a place to find populated at so late an hour. She was not at fault here. It was the hooded figure who had decided to ruin all calculations, to make it’s presence felt. Mist seemed to rise off the signboard at the bus stop. It advertised some trifling vulgarity punctuate with a smile. She offered it no thought but wondered at the figure who leant on it- hoping to slip through into serendipity perhaps.

While the figure consumed the advertising, she wondered at every breeze that rushed past. The breeze carried no zooming swish of wind, no passengers in a hurry. Why would empty breeze carry itself so quickly? Does a city seep into the the air so easily?

Of course no bus would arrive at this hour. Both of them knew that. They were boxed in close- city lights in every direction. Lights that suggested the world wasn’t dead, but showed no signs of life itself. The city grows sinister in its stillness, its emptiness, keeps you on the edge waiting for movement taunting you with none. She found it reassuring at least that there was a waiting companion, heading the same way into nowhere.

Mist rose out of her breath till it blinded her. Enveloped like the figure at the sign board she tried calling out to it. Her words dissolved like mist, she stays still, and her sight and form did obscure into silence.