The Thief - Part 8(end)

Something I read...

 Now then, I’m nearing the end of my little confession. I will answer the question that, by now, you must be asking yourself. Why the confession? The answer is simple. Ego.
I am now the words greatest thief…and nobody knows about it. But anyway, that’s my cross to bear. We mustn’t grumble at life’s hardships, now must we?
Thank you, by the way, for taking time out of your life to read my little chunk of memoirs. It was very kind of you. Thank you.
You have been…very kind.

 By Steven Long

The Thief - Part 7

Something I read...

 The second one. Again a homeless shelter. This time I only had to endure the place for one night before following the nice, young volunteer home. He must have been in his late twenties; I think mummy and daddy must had been paying his was for his whole life, because he had a very smart flat that was within walking distance. Now, I’m not having a pop at the little git for being a pampered rich kid. Hell, it meant I got 700 pounds cash from his flat and 2,100 pounds from his ATM card throughout the week.  This second one got me thinking, though. No, not about the evil of it all; I’ve told you, I don’t have excuses. If people don’t check behind them when they unlock their door, or don’t know how to disarm a man with a knife, well, they pay stupid tax. No, it got me thinking that I should be hitting richer people.
What the priest had told me about the lack or repercussions was right. I’m even still living in my eigth victim’s house as we speak, typing this out. What I had to do was find a way of getting very well-off people to be just a little kind to me.  Then I could cut out their heart and harvest their wealth.
The answer was easy. Manners. People are so stupid for manners. Its can just be a “thank you” for holding a door open, or getting on the bus with a crutch and somebody giving up their seat for me, although I’ll be honest; bus kills are not very profitable. But mainly I hit the big posh hotels, or hospitals; lot of money in hospitals. Doctors find it hard to refuse helping people. Doctors are the jackpot. 15-hour shift, follow them home, and they’re far too tired to put up a fight. I love doctors; so caring, so kind. So rich and easy and weak, and as pathetic as the rest of them.

You may think I’m a bastard, but you have to admit, I can make the most of a bad situation. Truth is, now I wouldn’t change this life for the world. I get to steal and kill, and I never have to worry about the law even looking for me, let alone catching me.  Now I treat it like a job. But the kind of job you wake up to in the morning and you can’t wait to get to. I love the feeling of cold steel piercing weak flesh, the gurgle in the throat. And I’m so close to being able to look at the pathetic “why me?” expression on their faces without feeling hatred for them. Close, but not there yet.

The Thief - Part 6

Something I read...

 The priest gave to me a small wooden box. The box was ebony and had a latched lock, a red velvet lining, and a plain wooden-handled knife inside. My last instructions before I left were that I was to return within four weeks with a human heart within the box. The heart had to be cut from the body with this knife and this knife alone.  Old priesty-boy assured me that once the heart was in his possession, then there would be no repercussions for the murder, and as he stated before, what I did with the human and material remains were of no interest to him.
The first one was hard. I had to keep my now counter-productive humanity in check whilst I found someone to be kind enough to me that would allow me to kill them. It took me two weeks of thinking and nerve-building to do my first.
A homeless shelter. I arrived unshaven, clothes ripped and stinking to high heaven. The man at the desk asked if I needed any help and was more than kind enough to show me to where I could bed for the night. I slept in the shelter for three nights, in the stench and the lowliness of humanity’s wretches. I hated them. Too stupid or too proud to steal, but pathetic enough to beg at some master’s table. Two days and nights I was there. That’s how long it took me to work out the desk worker’s shifts and where he parked his car. Two days to work out where he lived; I’m not bad at this.
He was an old, short man; he had such a warm and caring smile. He folded like cheap lawn furniture when I belted him with the handle of my knife. He had just unlocked his door and was halfway through the threshold when I did it. Seconds, it took, before I was inside, door closed and locked behind us. I kicked him in the jaw first; couldn’t have him making noise, now could I?
After a few boots, he passed out, and I got the box open and ready.  I cut his throat and left him to bleed out whilst I searched his house for money or something to fence. 300 pounds and a gold watch. Not bad. Now, if you think anything like me, I’m sure you are thinking two questions, and I will answer them both.
Firstly, yes, I did leave him to bleed out, so the heart would not be beating and there would be less chance of botching the removal. Clever.
Secondly, no, I didn’t think to get his ATM card and pin before I cut his throat. Stupid.

But it was only my first. I knew better for next time.

The Thief - Part 5

Something I read...

 Now, maybe my fear hit critical-mass, maybe my survival instincts began to kick in, or maybe I am indeed just a bastard, but after he told me this, I began to think in a logical – sadistic – but logical way.        I was still scared, but my logical thoughts were telling me I was in no position to get myself out of this, if the ever-burning feeling on my chest coming from the beads was as immovable as they felt.
And with that being the case, I thought I’d better get the ground rules for this set-up clear. I took a deep, labored breath and began to ask priesty-boy a few questions. Four questions, to be exact.
My first question was, “What what would constitute an act of kindness?” The priest answered that it could be anything from a doctor’s treatment to a kind word.
My second question was, “Who exactly is the figure on the base of the rosary, as I’m pretty sure by now that it’s not Jesus.” The priest answered, “That, son, is your new lord. Our lord. And you would do well to hold him in reverence.
The third question I asked was, “What happens to me if I fail?” His eyes lit up with sadistic glee as he answered.
“Each of the beads on your chest are, as you by now are aware, are now embedded into your chest. They will continue to embed themselves further and further into your chest until they reach your heart, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen when they do. Not to worry too much, my son. They will take five years to reach your heart, but for every heart you bring to me, one of the beads will drop out of the chain and out of your chest harmlessly. The chain and the symbol of our lord, however, will remain. Harmless, but forever with you. And, my son, to answer your question – if you should fail, then you will be before the lord himself and will have to answer to him. Let me warn you, my son, our lord has no time for compassion or second chances.
Well, that sure as hell cleared that up, didn’t it? For a minute or two, I stood before the priest and simply wept. Wept of the hopelessness of my situation. Cried for my fate. Hot wet tears ran down my cheeks as I thought of the fate that awaited me, should I fail in this horrid, hellish task. After that, though, I think I must have cracked. I felt hopeless, resigned to my fate, and the only thought left in my head was, “I’m sure I can make something from this.”
With this thought, I asked my last question, “So, if you just want the heart, can I have the rest? Their money, valuables, and all that?”

Old priesty-boy smiled and said, “My son, all I want is the heart. Once I have that, no one will investigate their death or even remember the wretched soul, so, by all means, take what you want.”

The Thief - Part 4

Something I read...

 The priest opened the partition and stared at me for a minute or so, eyes squinting and face screwed up in what I thought was a temper. He held out his right hand and said, “Take this, my son,” handing me a black-stoned rosary.
“Your penance is within these beads and will take you five years.”
I laughed, counting that there were 60 beads and what I guessed was supposed to be Jesus at the bottom.
“So, what, I have to say one prayer a month or 60 prayers a day? What prayers am I meant to say anyway? The ‘Our Father,’ ‘Hail Mary,’ the ‘Glory Be?’” I asked the priest, putting the rosary around my neck.
Old priesty-boy’s face slowly began to unscrew and his eyes began to widen.  His mouth turned from a scowl into a grin and it scared me to my very soul.
The priest, now adopting a sarcastically quizzical tone, said, “‘Glory Be?’ ‘Hail Mary?’ No, no, no, my son. Prayer has no place here, nor does the virgin mother, the saints, the savior, or the Father.”
As the words left his mouth, I began to feel the beads of the rosary became coarse. I, in vain, tried to remove the now stuck-fast chain.
“The trinity and its angels, and their prayer and their mercy are no longer for you, my son.”
Have you ever felt so scared that it felt almost like a fire spreading up through your veins from your chest out to your limbs? The base-line shot of terror that hits you in an instant of shock, but instead of fading, holds tight its grip on you, almost pushing your blood vessels to burst under the pressure? Well, that’s how I felt. Fighting the bile coating the base of my throat, I managed to ask, “So, what is my penance?”  The priest coldly put his hand on my shoulder.

“Once a month, you must kill somebody. And not just anybody; it must be someone who has shown you kindness. You must kill them and bring me their heart.”

The Thief - Part 3

Something I read...

 Thinking about what happened made me laugh as I walked home. It had been just under a year since the last time I was caught, and instead of spending a few months all-expenses  paid in one of Her Majesty’s lovely prisons, all I had to do was an evening down at the church.
Nine o’clock rolled around, and I found myself sitting in the small confession booth. It took priesty-boy forever to begin. Well, for 10 minutes, at least, I could feel his gaze through the crosshatched partition in the booth.  I’ll be honest, it was a little unnerving.
Eventually, he spoke.
“You may begin when you are ready, my son.”
At that moment in time, for some reason, the shop owner’s words came to my mind and I decided to have some fun.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 18 years since my last confession.”
At the 20-minute mark, I could tell old priesty-boy was getting more and more inpatient for me to finish confessing, in vivid detail, every time I had stolen.
I ended at the 80-minute mark, feeling quite content at being able to gloat – sorry – “confess” about all my sins to someone who was duty-bound to sit and listen.
“Is that all, my son?” he spat out in a far less content voice.
“Yes, Father, it is,” I replied in a chirpy, smug voice. “Now, how many prayers is all that gonna set me back?”  I asked.
And, well, mate, that’s when it all went a bit mental.

The Thief - Part 2

Something I read...

 I was probably only down for a minute or two, but by the time I was back on my feet and bit more with it, the shop owner was between me and the door, holding the biggest sodding knife I’ve ever seen.
“Lad, you wanna make sure you know who you’re stealing from before you try. You put that watch in your pocket in clear sight of my little camera here.”
He pointed to where he had previously stood when – I thought – he could not see me. Pointing at the wall, he revealed a security camera pointing right at the spot where I had pocketed the watch.
“You even walked slow enough for me to turn the camera off and grab something to lump you with, you silly little git.”
I was caught, good and proper. I asked the shop owner in, I must confess, a very pathetic voice, if he had called the police. He replied in a softer voice this time.
“Son, I’ve got you red-handed and on tape. Here’s the deal, son. I have a close friend who is the parish priest of the church up at the top of the high street. What I want you to do is to go to confession. Tell him not just about today, but about all your sins, and carry out you’re penance. I will call him to say he should expect you there tonight at nine.”
The shop keeper, an old, graying man, but being over 6’ 5”, with a big frame, and also a massive knife, had given me a pass. All I had to do was go to confession, tell the priest my sins, and knock out a few Hail Mary’s. Well, I agreed. We amazingly exchanged a polite good-bye, and I was out.

The Thief - Part 1

Something I read...

 A kleptomaniac is a person who can’t help but steal, and they could almost be forgiven for it. Me, well, I’m a thieving bastard. I don’t have to steal, I don’t need to, but I like to. I don’t have any excuses, either. An excuse would suggest that I felt in some way guilty, which I don’t. Not me. If a shop or store doesn’t have the right security, or some sod doesn’t have his wallet in his inside pocket, well, they pay stupid tax.
About three years ago, I was taking a walk along the high street when I noticed a new shop had opened. It was a small bric-a-brac shop full of the normal old furniture, paintings, time pieces and old coins you would expect to find in such a place. Walking in, I noted only one old man behind the desk, and after a few minutes concluded he was the entirety of the staff. It was time for me to have a little fun.
I found a small pocket watch, which felt old, cast iron, and almost industrious. “That will do,” I thought, turning to see that the lone shop keep was even kind enough to have his back to me.
Think about it, here he is. He’s new in town, just opened shop, and won’t even acknowledge his first customer. Well, “His tough luck,” I thought, as I pocketed the watch and calmly strolled to the door.
I think the phrase is “blunt force trauma,” but I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that getting a big oak table leg wrapped round the back of my head was both blunt and more than a bit traumatic.

The Royal Protector

Something I wrote...

Early night, a light rain on the rooftops

The bodies of the sick, burning down the street

Death is here, in the forms of rats and weepers

Their cries can be heard echoing off the cobble walls

The guards make conversation next to their machines of light

And the Tallboys, in their mechanical terror, wander the streets with weapons of fire

All thats left since the empress’ assassination… corruption 

As I make make my way across the thoroughfare hidden in shadow

slaying a guard in my path I make my way to the balcony

taking over the mind of the Overseer I have access to his chambers

leaving his body and killing him then surprised my target

i slit his throat before he could finish his cry for mercy but it attracted too much attention

i summon death and calmly leave as they scream in agony, I have now what I need

to find my daughter, the heir to the throne… I'm coming Emily.

Inspired by Dishonored

The Old Veteran: Part 2

Something I wrote...

Walking down the beaten path the hungry old veteran with six gold coins found himself in an old town, and immediately headed to the market. After spending all of his coins, the hungry old man with three rolls and a cup of honey went on and left the town. As he wandered lost in thought and reminiscing over the terrible memories of war, he came across another old man, a beggar, he had a deck of cards. The old beggar with the deck of cards asked if the hungry old veteran with three rolls and a cup of honey if he wanted to play a game.

“Oh but of course” said the hungry old veteran with three rolls and a cup of honey, after playing and losing three games he told the old beggar with a deck of cards, “Well wasnt that a great game you're quite good player.”

“Good enough for a gold piece?” asked the old beggar with a deck of cards.

“I’m so sorry but i've spent all of my gold in that town down the way, but i do have a roll and some honey i can give you.” said the hungry old veteran with two rolls and a two thirds cup of honey.

“Thank you, you have shown me great kindness giving me a third of your worldly possessions, here take my deck of cards, as long as you deal the cards you can never lose whatever game you play,” said the old beggar. And with that they said their goodbyes and went on the hungry old veteran with two rolls, a two thirds cup of honey, and a magic deck of cards.

The Old Veteran: Part 1

Something I Wrote...

Walking down the beaten path the hungry old veteran with six gold coins found himself in an old town, and immediately headed to the market. After spending all of his coins, the hungry old man with three rolls and a cup of honey went on and left the town. As he wandered lost in thought and reminiscing over the terrible memories of war, he came across another old man, a beggar, he had a deck of cards. The old beggar with the deck of cards asked if the hungry old veteran with three rolls and a cup of honey if he wanted to play a game.

“Oh but of course” said the hungry old veteran with three rolls and a cup of honey, after playing and losing three games he told the old beggar with a deck of cards, “Well wasnt that a great game you're quite good player.”

“Good enough for a gold piece?” asked the old beggar with a deck of cards.

“I’m so sorry but i've spent all of my gold in that town down the way, but i do have a roll and some honey i can give you.” said the hungry old veteran with two rolls and a two thirds cup of honey.

“Thank you, you have shown me great kindness giving me a third of your worldly possessions, here take my deck of cards, as long as you deal the cards you can never lose whatever game you play,” said the old beggar. And with that they said their goodbyes and went on the hungry old veteran with two rolls, a two thirds cup of honey, and a magic deck of cards.

Apollogies

My most humble apologies ladies and gents for not posting on the blog for some time, for you see I've been going through some dark times in the far away land of high school. I will continue to post short stories, my artwork, and other stuff I've read.

Thieves In Love

Something I wrote...

Beyond closed doors, we ran around the house

We gathered the valuables, its all we needed

We got ready to escape this place, forever

But we weren't scared, we were in love 

I gazed admiringly at her skilled touch emptying the safe

and as she giggled at my quiet step

I embraced her, stealing one kiss after another

I looked deeply into her eyes 

And as i confessed my love for the first time

the owners of the house walked in

We Still Have Hope

Ok so i made this painting... Its titled "We still have hope" it represents how the expansion of civilization is poisoning our world, turning it into a dead and grey place. But the little flower in the corner signifies that we still have a chance to fix what we've broken.. 

This painting is for sale! Please be generous, nothing less than $40.

BANKSY

Banksy is the most famous anonymous graffiti ever. Performing incredible feats like painting the palestinian wall in jerusalem even with armed soldiers watching him.

This guy is my idol seriously he could have gotten shot relaying the message of “i don't really care” it also could be speculated he may have been giving the political idea of taking down the wall. But i didn't ask him so i don't know.

Something else that was ballsy was he would take his art and a little plaque. Then pick a bald spot in a museum and put in his art and it would stay there for about a week.

This man is just a badass and knows how to grab attention.

BattleBlock Theater

Something I'm gonna do...

Im going to perform this for my speech class in a few days i wanted to know what you guys think!

Gumnut

So i was on Craigslist about a year ago and i found this ad... Please enjoy responsibly. 


I have a 3 year old Koala Bear named GumNut, that I am desperately trying to find a new home for. I bought him in January figuring it would be an awesome pet that would enjoy living in my greenhouse, sadly I was wrong. I paid $3200 for him back in January and I am not sure what the used Koala Bear market is like I a good economy or the one we have now; so I am open to offers. Please use some common sense before contacting me, don’t be an idiot, I am not interested in trading my Koala Bear for your busted up 1980’s Camaro, pictures of your naked wife, or an offer to paint my garage door. 

GumNut’s stats: 

The GOOD: 

1. He is somewhat housebroken, uses a cat box most of the time. 
2. For the most part he is very quiet; this also falls into the bad category which we will touch on a in a moment. 
3. He eats spiders, (not kidding) we haven’t had a spider in our house since we got him. 
4. He hates watching Desperate Housewives, used to be my wife’s favorite show until GumNut bit her for changing the channel from Jeopardy, to Desperate Housewives. 
5. Gets along well with one of my two dogs. 
6. Loves to go for car rides. 

Now for the BAD: 

1. He eats a lot of eucalyptus, which is not as cheap as I expected. 
2. Apparently eucalyptus I like a drug for Koala Bears, when GunNut is coming down from his high he becomes very violent and aggressive. 
3. He raped and killed my wife’s cat “Miss Kitty” (Honestly, I wanted to put this in the good section because I’ve been trying to find a way to get that worthless cat out of the house for two years, thanks GumNut.) 
4. He does not like Asian’s, I have no idea where this Koala was raised but someone of Asian Descent must have really mistreated him. 
5. Loves Vin Diesel movies, not sure why, he just does. 
6. He has extremely sharp claws and teeth which he uses often. 
7. Loves shiny objects, steals and hides them frequently in my dog’s rear end. 
8. He is quiet, and as a result has snuck in on my wife and I during intimate moments. I mind him watching; maybe it won't’ bother you as much. 
9. GumNut smells terrible and is not easy to wash. I had to hold a gas soaked rag over his mouth till he blacked out to get him in this tub for a bath. 
10. Once he is in the water he is fine, getting him into the water IS the challenge
     He will scratch you
     He will bite you
     And you will bleed.

"Gumnut ad" by unknown craigslist user

Car Radio

A song...

I ponder of something great

My lungs will fill and then deflate

They fill with fire

Exhale desire

I know it's dire

My time today

I have these thoughts

So often I ought

To replace that slot

With what I once bought

'Cause somebody stole

My car radio

And now I just sit in silence

Sometimes quiet is violent

I find it hard to hide it

My pride is no longer inside

It's on my sleeve

My skin will scream

Reminding me of

Who I killed inside my dream

I hate this car that I'm driving

There's no hiding for me

I'm forced to deal with what I feel

There is no distraction to mask what is real

I could pull the steering wheel

I have these thoughts

So often I ought

To replace that slot

With what I once bought

'Cause somebody stole

My car radio

And now I just sit in silence

I ponder of something terrifying

'Cause this time there's no sound to hide behind

I find over the course of our human existence

One thing consists of consistence

And it's that we're all battling fear

Oh dear, I don't know if we know why we're here

Oh my,

Too deep

Please stop thinking

I liked it better when my car had sound

There are things we can do

But from the things that work there are only two

And from the two that we choose to do

Peace will win

And fear will lose

There's faith and there's sleep

We need to pick one please because

Faith is to be awake

And to be awake is for us to think

And for us to think is to be alive

And I will try with every rhyme

To come across like I am dying

To let you know you need to try to think

I have these thoughts

So often I ought

To replace that slot

With what I once bought

'Cause somebody stole

My car radio

And now I just sit in silence

I ponder of something great

My lungs will fill and then deflate

They fill with fire

Exhale desire

I know it's dire

My time today

I have these thoughts

So often I ought

To replace that slot

With what I once bought

'Cause somebody stole

My car radio

And now I just sit in silence

"Car Radio" by Twenty One Pilots

The Cookie Thief

Something I read...

A woman was waiting at an airport one night, with several long hours before her flight. She hunted for a book in the airport shops, bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop. She was engrossed in her book but happened to see, that the man sitting beside her, as bold as could be. . .grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between, which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene. So she munched the cookies and watched the clock, as the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock. She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by, thinking, “If I wasn’t so nice, I would blacken his eye.” With each cookie she took, he took one too, when only one was left, she wondered what he would do. With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh, he took the last cookie and broke it in half. He offered her half, as he ate the other, she snatched it from him and thought… oooh, brother. This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude, why he didn’t even show any gratitude! She had never known when she had been so galled, and sighed with relief when her flight was called. She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate, refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate. She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat, then she sought her book, which was almost complete. As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise, there was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes. If mine are here, she moaned in despair, the others were his, and he tried to share. Too late to apologize, she realized with grief, that she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.

By Valerie Cox in “A Matter of Perspective”

New stuffs to post

I think i should also post pictures of my artwork. What do you think? im curious to know you think theyre any good, these are only a few ive done (and these arent even the good ones). Should i sell them?