Fingers and the Dream Thief (AI Version)
This is me, Edward Croydon, but you can call me Eddy. Or maybe not, since you’re a stranger and I’ve learned not to trust anyone too quickly on the streets of New Babbage. I was abandoned here when I was very young, left to fend for myself in a city that chews up and spits out even the toughest of souls. I don’t remember much about my parents, just a vague feeling of warmth and safety that’s long since faded into the cold, damp air of the alleys and sewers where I’ve spent most of my life. But I’ve learned to survive, to keep my wits about me, to defend myself against the gangs and the corrupt constables who patrol these dark, winding streets. So, if you’re looking for a lost puppy to take in, to feed and care for, you’ve come to the wrong place. But if you’re looking for someone who knows how to navigate the treacherous waters of this city, someone who can help you find what you’re looking for, then maybe we can do business.
I must shine shoes to earn my keep, but that’s not the only thing I do to survive. Sometimes, when the crowds are thick and their pockets are full, I’ll slip my nimble fingers into someone’s purse or coat, feeling the satisfying weight of a coin or a watch in my hand. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s what I have to do to stay alive in this city. And that’s why my close friends call me “Fingers,” a name that’s both a nod to my skill at pickpocketing and a warning to anyone who crosses me. But my friends aren’t just fellow thieves and beggars, they’re also the only family I’ve ever known. We watch each other’s backs, share our meagre meals and recount our stories of how we ended up on the streets of this sprawling metropolis.
At night, when the cold, damp air of the streets becomes unbearable, I retreat to the only place I can call home: the attic of an old deserted theatre on Canal Street. It’s not much, just a few wooden beams and a threadbare blanket, but it’s safe and dry and that’s all that matters. The theatre used to be a grand old dame, with plush seats and a glittering chandelier, but now it’s just a shell of its former self, abandoned and forgotten by the city and its people. Sometimes I like to explore the dusty old corridors and imagine the ghosts of actors and audiences past, but mostly I keep to myself, huddled under my blanket and listening to the sounds of the city beyond.
During the day, I stand on the bustling street corners and ply my trade, shining shoes for the rich gentlemen who pass by. Some of them barely acknowledge me, placing their shoes at my feet without a word and hurrying off to their next appointment. But others are more friendly, striking up a conversation as I work my brushes and polish over their expensive leather boots. They ask me about my life, my family, my dreams, and I tell them what I can, careful not to reveal too much of my true self. Sometimes they offer me a bit of extra money or a meal and I accept with gratitude, knowing that every coin and every bite counts in this unforgiving city. But mostly I keep my head down and my hands busy, watching the world pass by in a blur of shiny shoes and hurried footsteps. And when the sun starts to sink low and the streets empty out, I pack up my brushes and my rags and make my way back to the theatre, eager for the safety and solitude of my attic hideaway.
One day, as I was standing on my street corner, a rich elderly gentleman passed me by. He was dressed in a fine suit and hat. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, not daring to hope that he would stop and offer me work. But to my surprise, he did.
Filled with adventure, fantasy and energy, “Fingers and the Dream Thief” is a thrilling tale of friendship, justice, and the power of dreams. Perfect for young readers who love a good mystery and a heroic underdog.
(Important Note: This story was written with the use of AI to enhance the text.)
Maxwell Grantly 