Gish_Sky
Senior Member
“I hate sand.” Artem Kesyk, a scrawny fourteen year old boy, kicked the sand that had blown onto the streets of the Tatooine market. Well, on Tatooine, sand was everywhere. It was a bitter reminder of how his stowaway on a ship had stranded him on this awful planet.
The boy scowled, leaning against the wall of a building, probably a shop of some sort. This day approximately marked the eighth year of being on this awful planet. He cursed himself for sneaking onto that freighter. For sneezing because he was cold. If he had remained silent, the ship’s crew wouldn’t have caught him. Artem could remember those minutes clearly, when he heard the voices, speaking about how they had heard something. The footsteps coming closer and closer. Trying to stay as quiet as possible. The cold metal from a gun pressed against his forehead.
Artem supposed that he should’ve been thankful for being alive to this day. What for though? Everyday was the same. Steal from someone. Hopefully not get caught. Eat some food, if he had enough credits. Artem himself didn’t even offer to help people in exchange for credits anymore; his encounter with a slave trader was enough and he didn’t want to be swindled anymore.
Kicking the wall behind him, Artem looked around at the rather large crowd in the Tatooine town. He felt something strange. He wasn’t quite sure what that feeling was. He had those feelings sometimes; it helped him predict if the day was going to go well. Today’s feeling was different though. There wasn’t a way to explain it; if he was asked to describe it, he would just call it interesting. That was it.
Artem’s stomach growled. Sure, it was only about ten in the morning, but he was already hungry. Being hungry was constantly a problem, mostly because credits were constantly in low supply. Looking around, Artem slowly placed his hand onto his blaster pistol, a rather small gun that hung from his belt. It wasn’t loaded of course; he had found it at a nearby junkyard. He used it sparingly, but it was good enough to scare some people.
He generally picked on the smaller kids who were unaccompanied, simply because they were easier to scare. The brighter the clothing, the easier of a target they were. He’d be able to follow them through the crowd. The brighter clothing represented this luxury he never knew, but Artem knew that those kids had a minimum of twenty credits on them, probably given to them by their posh parents, to buy something fickle like candy. Artem hadn’t eaten that stuff in years.
Looking around at the crowd, Artem looked at a shop vendor. He was pretty occupied by the swarms of people surrounding him, wanting to purchase his wares. Artem wasn’t eyeing any of his items for sale. He was eyeing a large box sitting on a table, a box that was used to store credits. It was filled with credits; the man couldn’t even close it now. Smirking, Artem slunk towards the shop keeper, his hands by his side. He would walk close to the box, inconspicuously take a handful of credits out, close the box and slip out. That was a pretty good plan.
Of course, there was that feeling telling him that it wasn’t a good idea. Of course it wasn’t a good idea! But Artem needed to take risks, in order to get rewards. No pain, no gain. Artem closed his eyes for a bit. No police around. Good. He didn’t want to get to know those creeps on a first name basis.
Opening his eyes, Artem walked towards the shop, letting the crowd hide him. The vendor was busy. Good. Approaching the table, Artem placed a hand on the box, slowly opening the lid and using his other hand to push some credits out.
1, 2, 3… 10, 11…
Then, Artem felt like something bad was going to happen. A split second later, he heard a booming voice.
“Hey kid! What are you doing?” Artem turned around to see the shop vendor towering above him. Grabbing the credits, Artem ran. He was kinda grateful that the store vendor was a portly Twilek man, but he still ran quite fast. Damn it! He should’ve been more careful. Running through the streets, jostling a few obnoxious people on the side.
Then, he saw those notorious uniforms. Oh no. It was the police. They had heard the portly Twilek’s cries for help. Loser. He couldn’t even handle a boy by himself. He had to get the help of the police! Artem scowled. He was trapped, the Twilek behind him and the police up front. Halting, Artem attempted to run into a store, but felt something hard collide into his back, sending him flying onto the ground.
Something was bleeding. That was for sure. Artem could taste the blood in his mouth. Feeling some nubby fingers take the credits out of his fist and handcuffing his arms behind his back, Artem groaned. So the feeling was just another bad warning about how today was going to be. He supposed that the jail cell wouldn’t be too bad. Well, now that he was fourteen, he would probably have to share it with some adult criminal. Artem hoped that he wouldn’t be squashed.
The boy scowled, leaning against the wall of a building, probably a shop of some sort. This day approximately marked the eighth year of being on this awful planet. He cursed himself for sneaking onto that freighter. For sneezing because he was cold. If he had remained silent, the ship’s crew wouldn’t have caught him. Artem could remember those minutes clearly, when he heard the voices, speaking about how they had heard something. The footsteps coming closer and closer. Trying to stay as quiet as possible. The cold metal from a gun pressed against his forehead.
Artem supposed that he should’ve been thankful for being alive to this day. What for though? Everyday was the same. Steal from someone. Hopefully not get caught. Eat some food, if he had enough credits. Artem himself didn’t even offer to help people in exchange for credits anymore; his encounter with a slave trader was enough and he didn’t want to be swindled anymore.
Kicking the wall behind him, Artem looked around at the rather large crowd in the Tatooine town. He felt something strange. He wasn’t quite sure what that feeling was. He had those feelings sometimes; it helped him predict if the day was going to go well. Today’s feeling was different though. There wasn’t a way to explain it; if he was asked to describe it, he would just call it interesting. That was it.
Artem’s stomach growled. Sure, it was only about ten in the morning, but he was already hungry. Being hungry was constantly a problem, mostly because credits were constantly in low supply. Looking around, Artem slowly placed his hand onto his blaster pistol, a rather small gun that hung from his belt. It wasn’t loaded of course; he had found it at a nearby junkyard. He used it sparingly, but it was good enough to scare some people.
He generally picked on the smaller kids who were unaccompanied, simply because they were easier to scare. The brighter the clothing, the easier of a target they were. He’d be able to follow them through the crowd. The brighter clothing represented this luxury he never knew, but Artem knew that those kids had a minimum of twenty credits on them, probably given to them by their posh parents, to buy something fickle like candy. Artem hadn’t eaten that stuff in years.
Looking around at the crowd, Artem looked at a shop vendor. He was pretty occupied by the swarms of people surrounding him, wanting to purchase his wares. Artem wasn’t eyeing any of his items for sale. He was eyeing a large box sitting on a table, a box that was used to store credits. It was filled with credits; the man couldn’t even close it now. Smirking, Artem slunk towards the shop keeper, his hands by his side. He would walk close to the box, inconspicuously take a handful of credits out, close the box and slip out. That was a pretty good plan.
Of course, there was that feeling telling him that it wasn’t a good idea. Of course it wasn’t a good idea! But Artem needed to take risks, in order to get rewards. No pain, no gain. Artem closed his eyes for a bit. No police around. Good. He didn’t want to get to know those creeps on a first name basis.
Opening his eyes, Artem walked towards the shop, letting the crowd hide him. The vendor was busy. Good. Approaching the table, Artem placed a hand on the box, slowly opening the lid and using his other hand to push some credits out.
1, 2, 3… 10, 11…
Then, Artem felt like something bad was going to happen. A split second later, he heard a booming voice.
“Hey kid! What are you doing?” Artem turned around to see the shop vendor towering above him. Grabbing the credits, Artem ran. He was kinda grateful that the store vendor was a portly Twilek man, but he still ran quite fast. Damn it! He should’ve been more careful. Running through the streets, jostling a few obnoxious people on the side.
Then, he saw those notorious uniforms. Oh no. It was the police. They had heard the portly Twilek’s cries for help. Loser. He couldn’t even handle a boy by himself. He had to get the help of the police! Artem scowled. He was trapped, the Twilek behind him and the police up front. Halting, Artem attempted to run into a store, but felt something hard collide into his back, sending him flying onto the ground.
Something was bleeding. That was for sure. Artem could taste the blood in his mouth. Feeling some nubby fingers take the credits out of his fist and handcuffing his arms behind his back, Artem groaned. So the feeling was just another bad warning about how today was going to be. He supposed that the jail cell wouldn’t be too bad. Well, now that he was fourteen, he would probably have to share it with some adult criminal. Artem hoped that he wouldn’t be squashed.