chapter one.
The donkey dragged the caret lazily down the street. A bony man with a red, filthy beard was smacking the donkey with a long, leather whip. Behind him, under the quilt, a boy slept. He remained this way for the last eight hours.
When he woke up, the boy poked his head from under the quilt and looked all around him, wondering whether they had reached the port or not.
“Where are we?” the boy asked.
“Itz town boy; the city of the rich. Here, you will have a lot of work to do. A lot of good people to rob.” The orange bearded man chuckled, thrusting his head backward and whipped the donkey harder.
The boy’s name was Noah. Noah loved town. Although he did not visit it much with the old man, he usually had black and white pictures of it tucked in his tattered jeans. Whenever he longed for it, he would take out the pictures and stare at them. The long, close buildings with rooftops covered in sensor plates, amazed Noah. He wished that he had a small house in town where he would sleep peacefully and enjoy a book.
Noah went back under the quilt, keeping a small space from which he watched the streets as the donkey hurried on.
They finally reached the hut where the old man and Noah lived. It was in a dilapidated condition. It had a jagged rug in place of the door and a triangular window where mosquitoes hovered around a dead bird.
They went in. If someone else had smelt that nasty smell that filled the place, he would have fainted. But Noah got used to rot smell of dead animals that usually meant the old man was sweating out.
“Now, boy.” the old man said, sitting at a torn armchair. “The city is calling us.”
Noah knew what that meant. He knew that the man was going to assign him another job.
The old man smiled thinly at Noah. “You know what you will do”
“Sir, I can’t. I don’t want to steal anymore.”
Noah shivered after he spoke these words. He never dared to refuse the old man’s orders.
The man shoved himself from the chair and glared at Noah. He rubbed his ears and pretended not to hear what Noah had said.
“Fine, I’ll be waiting for you, go.’
“I don’t want to rob people sir,” Noah said, “You can have any other boy. There are more nimble kids around town. I don’t want to do it.”
The old man kicked the three-legged stool at his side. “How dare you disobey me?”
Noah shivered as the old man approached him; his eyes red with anger.
“I’m not disobeying you. I just don’t want to be a thief anymore.”
“I don’t care about what you want; I only care for what I want. I feed you to obey me.’
The old man tucked out a wooden handled knife and gestured with it at Noah’s hair.
‘I guess that your hair needs a cut.”
Noah placed his hand at his head and remembered the painful haircut the old man gave him last year.
He shivered and dashed out of the hut.
The donkey dragged the caret lazily down the street. A bony man with a red, filthy beard was smacking the donkey with a long, leather whip. Behind him, under the quilt, a boy slept. He remained this way for the last eight hours.
When he woke up, the boy poked his head from under the quilt and looked all around him, wondering whether they had reached the port or not.
“Where are we?” the boy asked.
“Itz town boy; the city of the rich. Here, you will have a lot of work to do. A lot of good people to rob.” The orange bearded man chuckled, thrusting his head backward and whipped the donkey harder.
The boy’s name was Noah. Noah loved town. Although he did not visit it much with the old man, he usually had black and white pictures of it tucked in his tattered jeans. Whenever he longed for it, he would take out the pictures and stare at them. The long, close buildings with rooftops covered in sensor plates, amazed Noah. He wished that he had a small house in town where he would sleep peacefully and enjoy a book.
Noah went back under the quilt, keeping a small space from which he watched the streets as the donkey hurried on.
They finally reached the hut where the old man and Noah lived. It was in a dilapidated condition. It had a jagged rug in place of the door and a triangular window where mosquitoes hovered around a dead bird.
They went in. If someone else had smelt that nasty smell that filled the place, he would have fainted. But Noah got used to rot smell of dead animals that usually meant the old man was sweating out.
“Now, boy.” the old man said, sitting at a torn armchair. “The city is calling us.”
Noah knew what that meant. He knew that the man was going to assign him another job.
The old man smiled thinly at Noah. “You know what you will do”
“Sir, I can’t. I don’t want to steal anymore.”
Noah shivered after he spoke these words. He never dared to refuse the old man’s orders.
The man shoved himself from the chair and glared at Noah. He rubbed his ears and pretended not to hear what Noah had said.
“Fine, I’ll be waiting for you, go.’
“I don’t want to rob people sir,” Noah said, “You can have any other boy. There are more nimble kids around town. I don’t want to do it.”
The old man kicked the three-legged stool at his side. “How dare you disobey me?”
Noah shivered as the old man approached him; his eyes red with anger.
“I’m not disobeying you. I just don’t want to be a thief anymore.”
“I don’t care about what you want; I only care for what I want. I feed you to obey me.’
The old man tucked out a wooden handled knife and gestured with it at Noah’s hair.
‘I guess that your hair needs a cut.”
Noah placed his hand at his head and remembered the painful haircut the old man gave him last year.
He shivered and dashed out of the hut.