The bright, white moon was out and it was plastered carefully onto the great canvas of dark blue sky, as dark a blue as the tight-fitting garments I wore for my work. It sparkled in the abyss as it shone off of everything: The sky-scratching towers of the central region of the city, the roofs of the houses on the Mid-Light class estates I ran past (knowing that the impromptu baits I laid for the wolf-dogs would not give me enough time in the world to escape), the emerald grass that gave way to decent cobblestone as I ascended further into the city, and me. Had it not been for the accursed moon (do not take my swearing for disdain; I adore the moon like a father), I would not have been caught.

My spoils jumped with every move I made, for they were in a small sack attached to my belt and my legs were pumping as hard as was humanly possible for me to get away. Then I heard the telltale barks that translated into ‘pursue!’ by the wolf-dogs I was so desperately trying to escape.

I ran swiftly over the cobblestone toward the decrepit wooden door at the end of the street. It was fastened tight at the top, though it was terribly unhinged and broken toward the bottom. It was two streets away, but I could practically see it in my mind’s eye. The bestial snarling behind me was incentive enough to be on my way. The wolf-dogs could cover a lot of ground in very little time, so my minute’s worth of a head start was merely thirty seconds by their standards. I kept my thoughts on the door.

There was room enough for me to get through the little space between the doorframe and the door itself, but even that was an overstatement. The space was barely big enough for a child and I did not particularly care to stop and crawl. To stop would mean certain death and to attempt the sliver of freedom would mean certain foolishness. I was better of surrendering by all logic.

The snarling, slobbering, black-and-gray wolf-dogs pursued me relentlessly. Massive, ugly, and brutal as they were, the wolf-dogs were efficient sniffers and had tracked me down where their handlers had not. See, I was the leader of a one-man raid—in other words: I broke into some Mid-Light family’s manor for a little extra money and it just so happened that while I did perfectly in evading human detection (I heard them at the table for dinner), I had not anticipated the number of wolf-dogs that solicited the backyard area.

While I fancy myself a generous and noble person, I admit that I have certain self-preservation tendencies that oft times come right out of the blue. The first was my seemingly innate ability to get into places I shouldn’t be, followed by quick, long-fingered hands, and finally medium-sized feet. The last two might seem totally arbitrary, but when you have fingers that can pluck tiny things from cozy places (I’m referring to the jewels in my sack, picked easily from a ring in a jewelry box) or feet that are small enough to find footholds on walls as you climb but large and powerful enough to flatten dough for bread, you tend to find ways to capitalize off them—especially when you’re in the Dark class.

But those were nothing compared to this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach as my knee bent involuntarily (nearly scraping the ground) and my feet pushed off powerfully from the cobblestone, propelling me forward like a long sword being stabbed forward parallel to the ground. I saw the cobblestone pass before my face as if it were a down-falling wall. It was odd, yes, but I felt, though fleetingly, that I would be getting used to it more and more. As I brought my head up, not panicking at the surprise that I was flying inches off the ground, I came to realize that I was not actually flying, but in the procession of a launch and would be landing most skiddingly so. I began to put out my arms to protect myself when I got terribly close to the floor, only to feel an odd slicing on the left side of my spine, and then my front skid along a dusty floor.

It occurred to me immediately that I’d made it through the decrepit door. By this time, the growls of the wolf-dogs had become threatening barks that faded into another world and I was, of course, well aware that they were not going to be able to get me. As I stated, they were massive—their backs were as high as my midriff (and I was slightly above average for a sixteen year old boy) and their heads were like boulders with sharp, needle-point teeth. And although these beasts were sleek from being house-bred for years and sharp-eyed with near-human cunning, most wolf-dogs have matted fur that makes them look sharp and grizzly with wild and ferocious eyes. As I got to my feet, I smirked at my mental image of them—the decrepit door was at least strong enough to keep up against the assault of the wolf-dogs—and realized that I would be safe to burgle another day.

Though, I admit, it would be a little hard, even for me, when crimson life-liquid ran from your back and past your rear-cheeks down your leg from the stake of wood that had to be past when getting into the old house through the door. I cringed when I saw that a part of my shirt had gotten caught and was now being shredded even more by the wolf-dogs. And as they feasted viciously on scraps of my shirt and stains of my blood, they would forever have my scent, they would forever know when I was near and would wake their masters or worse: deal with me themselves.

I decided that I would stay in the old decrepit house with the decrepit door for at least half the night. When city control got a hold of the beasts outside the door, I would be free. Until then, I shuffled in the dark until I found the couch that, by day, was an ugly plaid color. Tonight, however, it was only as invisible as everything else in the abandoned city house.

I suspect this house used to belong to a Middle-Light family. This was obvious from the ugly couch—no self-respecting High-Light family would ever own that. Middle-Light families tended to get things that were considered trendy, and a few years ago, maybe twenty, the plaid pattern would have been all the rage all over the cities for a good half-year. But not in the Dark parts of town. And people like me, Dark people, would never ever have the time to get into things like fads. Our single most long-lasting fad was and always has been the one I know best: Survival.

It got later and later and the wolf-dogs by now have been picked up by city control. I heard snippets of their conversation as they rounded the beasts up. They assumed the wolf-dogs were chasing a small animal or something, thus the blood-stained wood on the decrepit door. Never once did I hear them theorize over a teenaged boy sailing at speed through the gap. The only thing that made me irate was the one city control officer who stooped down to take measurements and collect chips of wood with blood. I don’t pretend to understand his fetish, but it made ticked me off. Hearing him speak, he seemed to think that he could learn something from what he’d gathered. Bullocks.

The pain in my back really began to settle in as I snaked my way through the tiny portal through the decrepit door that separated the black world of the derelict city house from the moonlit city itself. The moon was still high in the sky, now at its zenith right above me. I smiled at it and limped down the street until the cobblestone got more and more uneven, letting me know that I was leaving the affluent Middle-Light neighborhood and descending into the realm of the Dark People, specifically closer to my home.

As I continued, the smell of cinnamon and cream got stronger and I knew that even a blind, deaf, overall senseless person could not deny his location had he been where I was. And when my bones tingled with the anticipation of the unbridled joy that would fill the lines of my mother’s face, I knew that I had never loved being who I was any more than I did now.

I continued on when I saw my little sister jumping rope in the moonlight, keeping watch for me. I ruffled her long thick black hair made pale as moonlight and picked her up as I walked to the house a few lots down.

“Wha’d you get?” she asked, wrapping the rope loosely around my neck. I stared into her big brown eyes and smiled involuntarily—she had that effect.

“I got five gold rings,” I said dramatically so that she could breathe with anticipation, “four gems,” her smile grew wider, urging me to go on. “Three aloe leaves,” she nods her head indifferently, not knowing that it was our mother that needed them more than we. “Two baby spheres,” I said while pulling them out and giving the little silver balls to her. They were what children collected played with. Their significance was always lost on me.

“And what else?” she asked. “Anything else?”

“And one—I’ll show you and Mama at the same time.”

She opened her mouth to protest, proclaiming her love for me and telling me how I was always her favorite brother and how she would tell me if she were in my position,” but I just held her tighter as I went up the stairs and opened the door with my foot (yes, I can do that) and set her down, letting her spread the news of my arrival as well as making sure she didn’t mindlessly strangle me with the rope. As I said, I couldn’t love who I was any more than I did now.

I was a thief by circumstances, by trade, and by choice. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.