Memories Don't Always Last Forever...

An unconscious body lay crumpled in the gutter of the dusty, grime-streaked cobblestone streets of 19th century England. The body went unnoticed by the many overworked horses that trotted past pulling the polished blacked carriages of the rich and wealthy, except for occasional glances of disdain from the haughty faces of those concealed within the carriages.

A black figure darted forwards from the shadows, and timidly approached the unconscious body, stopping at an arms length away. He gave the body a swift, sharp kick in the ribs, and, satisfied that the body did not waken, crept quickly closer. Now leaning over the body, he swiftly reached his hand into one of the pockets of its old, threadbare pants.

“I’d like to keep my watch in my pocket, thank you very much.” The body’s eyes blinked open, revealing the dirt-smudged face of a young boy used to living a hard life on the street.