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The Thief

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The Thief carefully inched across the platform. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he focused on the task at hand. He heard a cough to his right; he immediately turned around expecting someone. He let out a sigh, relieved to know it was the guard sleeping in the nearby room. He returned his focus back on the box he was trying to retrieve. The moonlight shone on the diamonds casting mysterious colors on the walls. It’s now or never he thought. He slowly crept across the floor careful not to make a noise and lightly touched the delicate yet priceless glass box that held his mother’s future. He picked it up and gazed at it awed by its beauty. He turned to leave and was shocked by the person who confronted him. The police now stood in front of him with his gun posed ready to fire. The thief wasn’t at all afraid of the police, rather he was horrified of what HE could do to the police if he tried to stop him.

“Put the glass box down and put your hands up!” ordered the police

“ I’m afraid that is not possible” the thief replied coolly

“Oh, and why is that? You are obviously stealing and have no right to do so”

“You don’t understand” The thief stated plainly

“I’ve heard that one before. Now put the glass box down and put your hands up”

“Please! My mother is sick” Tears were now falling down the thief’s cheeks, his body trembled with every word

The police lowered his gun amazed to see a grown man not to mention a thief crying.

“You don’t gotta steal son” The police finally replied “ I’ve been in your shoes before and I understand how you feel but you don’t gotta steal”

“I have no choice” The thief sobbed “Now please…

The thief didn’t have to finish his sentence. In a blink he had shot the police and was now standing over his body wide eyed and terrified of the crime he had committed… once again.




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