Chasing the Thief

The little boy darted across the busy streets, slipping between carts and hurried vendors, his small frame making it easy for him to disappear. No matter how fast he ran, no matter how many turns he took down narrow alleyways, I kept chasing him.

My breath was ragged, my legs burned from the effort, but I wasn't going to let him get away. He had stolen something right in front of me, and despite my own struggles, I couldn't ignore it.

After what felt like an eternity of running, the boy finally stopped in a dimly lit alleyway. It was lined with rundown buildings, their walls cracked and stained with age. A cluster of small, dilapidated rooms lined one side, resembling a motel, but clearly meant for those who could barely afford a roof over their heads.

The boy hurriedly slipped into one of the rooms. I watched from a distance, catching my breath, then made my way to the door. Without thinking much, I knocked.

"Go away," came his annoyed voice from inside. "Stop following me."

"How can I not?" I replied, irritation creeping into my voice despite my effort to remain gentle. "You stole something."

"I need this for my family, so get lost." His tone was rude, but there was something beneath it—a weight, a tinge of desperation.

"While I understand your concerns, stealing is still wrong."

"You don't understand anything," he snapped. "You don't live the life I do."

"I'm poor too," I blurted out, the words escaping before I could think them through.

A long pause followed, and then, slowly, the door creaked open. A single eye peered at me warily. "You're poor too?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "I have no money either."

"Then… how come you're surviving?" His voice held genuine curiosity, as if he couldn't believe there was another way.

I hesitated for a moment before answering, my tone uncertain. "An old woman helped me."

He scoffed slightly. "You're lucky, then."

"Can we talk? Please?" I asked, stepping back slightly to show that I meant no harm.

The boy eyed me for a few more seconds before sighing. "Fine." He stepped out of the doorway, arms crossed.

Standing close, I realized he seemed a lot younger than me, like in his early teenage. He was shorter, his head reaching my shoulders. His plain black tunic and baggy pants were smudged with dirt, and his shoes were scuffed beyond repair. His brown hair was messy, and his indigo eyes, though striking, held a guarded, wary look.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked, his tone softer but still annoyed.

"Why did you steal?" I asked, though I had already guessed the answer.

He scoffed. "What do you mean, 'why did I steal'? Because I'm hungry and poor, duh."

"Oh… right. Sorry." I paused, unsure how to continue. After a brief hesitation, I asked, "Where are your parents?"

Silence.

His expression changed instantly. His annoyance melted away, replaced by something else—pain, frustration, grief. He averted his gaze as if looking at me would force him to relive something he didn't want to.

"Why- why do you even want to know?" His voice was tense, his brows furrowed.

"I'm just… curious. Why are you wandering alone?"

His jaw clenched. "They passed away."

I swallowed hard, suddenly regretting the question. "I'm… I'm sorry. That must be painful. I shouldn't have asked."

"Y-You already did." His voice was strained, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.

"I truly am sorry," I murmured.

He sighed, rubbing his arm. "Just leave, alright? You got what you wanted."

I hesitated. "But-"

"So, auntie, I'd appreciate it if you left."

I blinked. "A-Auntie?!"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Before I could respond, he turned and slammed the door in my face.

"Tch… attitude," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head.

With a sigh, I turned away and started making my way back to the apothecary. The conversation replayed in my mind. His pain had been obvious, and despite his rudeness, I couldn't help but feel bad for him. It was strange—seeing someone in a situation similar to mine, yet responding to it so differently.

As I approached the apothecary, my steps slowed. Something felt… off.

The door was slightly ajar. A terrible feeling twisted in my gut.

I stepped inside cautiously. "Miss Gertie?"

No response.

My heartbeat quickened. My eyes scanned the room frantically until they landed on a figure lying on the floor.

My stomach dropped.

"Miss Gertie!" I cried, rushing to her side, dropping to my knees beside her. Panic surged through me as I gently shook her. "Miss Gertie, please wake up!"

Her breathing was faint, but at least she was still alive. My mind raced, trying to think of what to do. I had to get help. But where? From whom?

Tears burned my eyes as I held her frail hand. "Please… please be okay."

I couldn't lose her. I wouldn't.