The Thief

Celine was sitting on the windowsill, watching the snowflakes fall softly onto the forest floor outside. White symbolised innocence, didn't it? But she wasn't innocent at all. She was one of the most wanted thieves in the village. And now they were after her…

She had known she shouldn't tell Freddie about her secret. She must have been crazy to tell a talkative seven-year-old like him. But he had seen her steal something anyway. He would have blabbed sooner or later. But she shouldn't have told him about her hideout. Like this, the police would find her at once. The little red hut was very easy to find in the forest. Who had been stupid enough to paint it in such an obvious colour anyway? She should have painted it in a better colour long ago.

Celine shifted a little. She was feeling very uncomfortable on the windowsill. But like this she felt warmer, more secure, than in the rest of the hut. And from here she could see everyone who came to look for her. The door was on the other side, but everyone always came by the wrong side anyway and had to walk all the way round.

For the first time in two years, she noticed that the hut stank. She never had to stay in her hideout for so long. She only came to drop her stolen items, and to hide when they were searching for her again. But now she had been sitting here, cramped on the windowsill, for two hours, waiting for doom to come. The whole place was filled with a stench of rotting wood, paint, and damp food.

Usually, Celine didn't steal food, but sometimes she didn't have anything better to steal. She didn't even know why she stole anymore. She just did it, to make the rich people angry. She had lived on the streets as long as she could remember, and stealing from the rich people and shopkeepers was the only way to get back at them.

Nobody knew she was the thief who stole all kinds of things and left a note behind, saying, "It's your own fault I took this stuff, and I'll come again." Everyone thought Celine was the pretty little thirteen-year-old who sang on the streets to make money. Well, she was, but only in the afternoon. In the night and in the morning, she would steal. No one had seen her. Except for Freddie.

She had climbed in through a window, and was about to climb back out of the mansion with a golden birdcage when he came in and saw her. She had disappeared as quickly as possible, hoping that he wouldn't recognise her on his way back from school the next morning. But he did recognise her, and asked her who she was. She had to reply truthfully. Now she thought she had been stupid.

Suddenly, the sound of a twig cracking under the weight of someone's foot woke her out of her reflections. She squinted between the trees, but couldn't see anyone. She didn't have to see him. She was sure it was the policeman. She picked up the gun from next to her on the windowsill. She never used it, but kept it here just in case. For the past few weeks, since she was discovered by Freddie, she always took that gun wherever she went. She didn't want to go to prison. One of the beggars had told her that her parents had been put in there long ago, when she was still small, and had been hanged. She still thought that everyone who went to prison died by hanging.

Celine carefully climbed down from the windowsill. She couldn't stand properly because she had pins and needles in her legs after sitting on them for so long. She heard the policeman clumsily walk around the hut. "Don't be afraid. He doesn't know you have a gun," she told herself. She often talked to herself to keep herself company. But she was still afraid. She had never shot at anyone or anything before. She had never used the gun. She knew that if she missed, the policeman would shoot her. She was not sure if she could shoot at all with her numb fingers.

Her hand trembled. She heard someone at the door. Slowly, the handle turned. She swallowed. "Here he comes…" she whispered.

"Don't shoot me!" Freddie shrieked and fell onto the floor with fright. Of course it was Freddie. How could she have been so stupid? Policemen didn't walk so clumsily and noisily! Celine lowered the gun.

"I never shoot at anybody," she said, quickly putting the gun back on the windowsill.

"What were you doing then?" Freddie asked, getting back up on his feet.

"Just… playing police." Celine lied.

"Aren't you too old to play police?" Freddie asked.

Celine didn't reply. The police would come soon. They had just sent Freddie ahead to distract her, so she wouldn't see them through the window when they came. If only he would shut up so she could hear them coming!

"I came to tell you something," Freddie said. Celine rolled her eyes. Now what? "I told the police about you."

I knew that long ago, stupid! Celine thought.

"And they were interested in why you always went to steal. And in the thing with your parents."

"You didn't have to tell them everything about me!" Celine said angrily.

He ignored her comment and said, "They said they were going to look for your parents or put you in a home or somewhere."

"What?" Celine was absolutely horrified. A home? She had heard enough about those. One of her friends had been in one once and said it was horrible. "Are they coming to fetch me now?" she asked. But she didn't wait for an answer. She was so scared of being put into a home that she grabbed the gun and ran past Freddie and outside. She could still hear him calling after her as she ran away.

A few hours later, the police arrived at Celine's hideout. Freddie was still there, sitting on the windowsill, trying to imagine himself in Celine's situation. "Where's the girl, you?" one of the policemen asked him.

"Ran away," he said.

"And we were about to tell her that we have found her parents again…" another policeman sighed.

Freddie didn't say anything. If her parents had landed in prison, then they probably weren't exactly the best people to live with. Now Celine could live happily on her own, with no rich people in the forest to steal from. Maybe she would grow up to be a better person…