Sevastopol I got a bit bored. I hope you enjoy my story.

The story of a boy and his sister.



The sea lapped gently against the concrete barrier that separated the only non-frozen Ukrainian city from the Black Sea. Its docks were as abuzz with life as they always were, dock men, ships, and seamen going about their business in the warm afternoon breeze when young Aleric Fowl found himself walking down a rather dark side-street. The boy of only thirteen was a man in many respects, and with the brightness and sunshine against his back, and with his hands in his tattered jacket pockets, he approached the intended scene of rather ill fate.


Yes, Aleric Fowl was a criminal, but he was not the poor, sad, two-bit deadbeat you might imagine, nor was he an authority-hating, irresponsible child. In fact, I would consider him to be quite a good person, if his deeds were accomplished through moreâ ¦ legal methods.


Winter was approaching, but unlike the rest of the former Soviet client-state, Sevastopol (as came the wind from the south, where things were quite warm and salty) remained rather mild throughout the otherwise freezing months. Still, Aleric bundled his jacket around himself and fingered the instruments of his work. On this particular occasion, the tools consisted of a (stolen) spanner, (also stolen) screwdriver, and one (partially paid for) foot of rope. I really hope this pays off.


As was normal, Aleric found himself particularly pessimistic today. No day ever seemed to be his day, and every day seemed to be a bad day, but today things really seemed like they werenâ t very good. Nothing in particular hinted that that evening would be his worst, but he had learned to trust his precognition. Regardless of his gut-instincts, his animalistic-instincts said he was hungry-and that means going for food now! If this went the way he wanted it, he would be fed for a week at least. Him and his sister.


Aleric reached the end of the alleyway, which connected to a second one for a three-way intersection. He looked left, and then right, and when he was certain that no adults were around to tell him to leave, he headed in the direction of the local Kalish Kar, known for its ridiculous prices on everyday products. It was also known for the fastest response time when the police were called, which stands to reason why it had never been successfully robbed before. Until now, that is. With a stomach-rumble and a small chuckle, he continued down the alley, which seemed to grow progressively thinner and the darkness more impressing. Neon-lights bleeding over cast the unpainted backs of each building in sickening colors as he squeezed by, until finally they opened and led him to the loading station at the back of the Kalish Kar. Trucks came by one a month to restock-and the last refill was only two weeks ago; the storeroom had to still be full!


Desire, deprivation, and desperation all led men to do stupid things, like this:
Aleric (very quietly) picked his way out of the alley into the opening. The side street that allowed vehicles in and out was empty, with no one on watch; Aleric knew the man who should be back here usually took half-hour â Lunch Breaksâ around eleven, which gave him at least twenty minutes to get in and out.


Pulling himself onto the elevated platform that boxing were lowered on to, Aleric came to the back-door. The only handle was on this-side; anyone on the other side had to use the front door to exit. The lock was where the screwdriver came in; as old in make as it was, it was as simple as forcing the flat-head into the door crack and pulling it up until the latch was knocked out of place. The door swung open with a slow creeeeee; obviously no one spent money on renovation or upkeep. As Aleric stepped in, however, it suddenly swung back to a close and relatched itself, nearly crushing him had he been a second faster on entering.


Repeating the steps to open the door, this time the rope was removed, too; Aleric secured the door handle to a pole that lay just outside, supporting a jut of the roof that stuck out to cover laborers. It was strong enough to keep the door open and, satisfied with his work, Aleric strolled inside, feeling rather giddy. Best news: The store is closed today. No one here to stop me.


With each step, a wider and wider smile spread across Alericâ s face. His final tool, the metal spanner, was heavy, but felt pathetically light in his adrenaline-pumping hands. He walked through the store room, taking careful, mental inventory of what he could carry, and then slipped out the service door into the front of the store. There was nothing out here he particularly cared for, other than the small white box that lay upon the check-out counter. The tiny treasure-chest was full of his plunder and unable to withstand a few blows from the wrench. It dinged, sputtered, and the money-holding slide ejected with a tiny â clickâ and clatter as it hit the floor. Mine, all mine.
It was not until the last of the looted cash was in his pocket that Aleric noticed a faint buzzing at the very peripherals of his hearing. It grew louder with each second that he stopped to listen to it, unable to place its origin or meaning. With a shrug, he returned to the storeroom and collected on-perishables. Unfortunately, there were only so-many bags of beef jerky and dried fruit he could fit in his jacket and free pocket. As he made a last-sweep, the buzzing grew ever loud, until it seemed all around the buildings-and it was at last that he recognized it: The klaxons and sirens of the Sevastopol police.


The cash-register must have had a silent alarm! No, no! This canâ t happen. I need to get this back to Isabel. No no no! Grab the rope, okay, lock the door behind me. Do I have my spanner? Yeah itâ s here. Okay, hold it, and letâ s go. Run, run!
Perhaps now it is time to clarify what I mean previously by saying I would like Aleric Fowl if it were not that his methods were soâ ¦ illegitimate. You see, when it comes to a family in a country without the care to provide welfare and to a son and daughter whose father is neglectful, self-providence is key. As no one else provided food or clothes (and rarely shelter), it was up to Aleric Fowl and Isabel Fowl to feed and take care of themselves. Aleric (the older brother by one year) refused to allow his sister to leave school, for any reason; he took it solely upon himself to take care of both of them. And when no one would provide a barely-educated thirteen year old with a proper job offer, he turned to the only thing he could do-stealing what he (and she) needed.


And that is how Aleric Fowl found himself running down an alley, being chased by two police officers. Apparently no one got the â Donâ t shoot childrenâ memo; Aleric had been missed by mere inches several times, and really did not appreciate being shot at. In a desperate attempt to escape, he turned a corner on-heel and wildly flung a packet of dried apples behind him, successfully tripping one of the officers into the other.


But just as Aleric thought he was away, safely stepping back onto the sidewalk that had first led him here, a cruiser pulled up and stopped. Again, in desperation, Aleric threw something-this time the spanner, which crashed through the windshield. The passenger got out to chase him while the driver cradled an aching body part that did not particularly enjoy getting itself hit by a spanner.


This chase went on for several hours, taking up all the news space for the next several evenings. Aleric would avoid the police, think he was hidden, and be sent running off again. Heâ d run a corner, think he was on a new street, and realize he had just run in a giant circle. He saw parts of the city heâ d never seen before, and run more miles than Olympic Marathoners did in a lifetime (at least, that was how he felt). Hot, sweaty, and out of breath, he was never able to catch his breath. By the sixth hour he was labeled â Armed and Dangerous,â and no one seemed to mind letting the Sevastopol police fire on a teenager.
By sundown, sticky was added to the mess; two bullets had grazed his left arm, one grazed his left ribs. As he ran for the street he lived on, Ð Ð¸Ñ Ð½Ð°Ð¶ÐµÐ½Ð½Ñ st., a fourth shot perforated the air and tore into his back, then out his stomach and danced against the sidewalk. Aleric put a hand over the wound and new without looking how bad it was, though (strangely) he didnâ t feel a thing; adrenaline had him walking on air the entire day.


Aleric didnâ t use his front entrance (for his â Homeâ getting shot up put more than himself in danger); he hopped the fence that ran between each house into the sideyard and stumbled his way around to the back, then crawled in through the window his sister left cracked; she knew heâ d come home, but she had never expected him to come home like this.
â Isabel, here pleaseâ ¦â She was in shock at seeing her brother like this, but he ignored her. With a blood-stained hand he gave her a fistful of cash and took off his ruined jacket, then emptied his other pocket of food. â Aleric, we can get you to the hospital, I promise. Youâ ll be okay. Weâ ll tell the police it was an accident or something. Come on, Aleric! ALERIC!â
Aleric could barely hear her. He had one arm over his stomach and the wound, trying to hide it from her. She sounded distant, and the room was dark. He felt his knees crash into the floor. â I l-love you, Isabel.â He hit the ground and died, giving his life for hers.