The scrawny sixteen year old boy was thrown into the damp, smelly alleyway by his master. He tried to turn and run, but was grabbed by his raggy, dirty shirt and was plunged deeply- head first- into the murky waters of the drain. Jonah Sanfrics was his name. He took in a mouthful of water, his lungs cringing. Then his master- a horrible old man named Drailic Flecks, pulled him up and laughed cruelly.
“Ye scrawny little orphan ye Thinkin’ ye can do wha's ye likes", he said angrily "You's took meh grandmother' ornamental plate to sell for yerself". He punched Jonah hard and repeatedly, winding him just above the waist.
Jonah cried out in agony, doubling over, falling back into the water. He spluttered and kicked out, trying to hit Drailic away, but failed. Drailic grabbed Jonah by his thick black hair and pulled him up at arm’s length. A knife pressed into Jonah’s neck and he winced, then head-butted out backwards. Drailic pushed him against the wall and punched him in the stomach. The force of the blow made Jonah double over. His emerald green eyes shed tears that rolled down his face, leaving streaks of white skin under a heavy mask of dirt.
Jonah pleaded, “Please sir, please, I didn’t take it. I didn’t…” Drailic spat in his mouth, pulled him up and threw him against the alley way floor.
Drailic was a heavy drunk, he always had been. He smelled of whiskey and rum, and couldn’t walk or talk properly. He took the knife from his pocket and got ready to fling it at Jonah. He didn’t though. Drailic fell over, slipping on the grimy muck that lay on the alley floor. He made a squelch when he collided with it and rolled about, like a headless chicken, yelling out in agony. The dagger flew down into a drain, sinking to the bottom.
This was Jonah’s chance to do something. Without thinking, he took action. He plunged for the dagger Drailic had dropped in the drain. He landed roughly beside the murky waters. Jonah reached for the dagger that was lying still on the drain floor. He reached further, putting his shoulder in the water, and then taking a risk, Jonah lowered his face into the grimy water. Jonah couldn’t swim, like most his age, he hadn’t learned how to. He had just grasped the blade end of the dagger when a hard rough hard grabbed his ankle. Jonah grunted, twisted and kicked, trying to get Drailic to loosen, or maybe even drop his grip. Jonah faltered and grabbed the dagger, barely grasping it by the tip of the blade. He threw it up and clasped it by the hilt, and in one swift movement thrust it through the waters murky surface. Jonah twisted a tiny inch and reached down, slashing Drailics closed fist.
Drailic screamed intensely, out of mere pain. His grip faltered, but he didn’t let go. Jonah kicked again, and again, his upper body still in the drain water. He struggled furiously to get up, kicking out, wasting his precious energy. Jonahs foot collided with Drailic’s face making his neck snap back. Jonah pulled his head from the water and rolled over in muck and filth. He got up and peered at Drailic angrily. He raised the dagger and flung it at his master’s heart. It struck home with an unhealthy twack! Drailic slumped to a still. He didn’t move. He was dead.
Jonah gasped. He had just killed; he nearly collapsed to the floor in disgust and shock, but also fears. He had killed. Blood ran down the alley, pouring into drains. It hit his shoes and he nearly got sick. He had killed. Jonah hadn’t meant to kill him, it was just, the heat of the moment. He thought no more and quickly bent down, picking up the dagger. He searched Drailic’s pockets, finding a gold pocket watch. The pocket watch was gold, encrusted with shining white diamonds. There was a small chain coming out of the top of it and he linked it around his neck, tucking it in to his raggy shirt. He quickly took off Drailics white coat and put it on himself, tying it up. He looked at it. Fortunately, there was no blood. Jonah looked around cautiously. He couldn’t leave the body there. He tried to heave it, but it was too heavy. He suddenly wished he had some strength. His thoughts strayed to the silk factory Drailic owned, and all the kids he had had enslaved, then he stopped. The body was too heavy so with a disappointed sigh, he dropped it. Jonah looked at the opening of the alleyway. He ran quickly towards the exit, hoping he could get away, to forget about all that had happened in the past few minutes.
Joanh reached the cobbled street of Dublin, and looked around, seeing horses and carriages and rich, fancy people wearing bright and colourful clothes. It was a sunny morning, and his eyes hurt from the change of the darkness within the alleyway. He went to cross the road and a carriage flew past, nearly killing him. Jonah jumped back, startled. He landed on the footpath in a puddle. He got up and dusted himself off, soaking wet and mucky. Jonah sighed then saw another carriage, a huge black shiny one with six white majestic horses pulling it. He made a run at it and jumped onto the back of it, landing heavily on a small ledge at the back of the huge carriage. He turned and looked to see if the driver had noticed anything, but he couldn’t see that much. All he could see was a silver top hat. Jonah sat back making himself comfortable on the small ledge. It was just about big enough to hold him. He rustled back into what seemed like a fur blanket. He didn’t care what it was, but it was warm. That’s what mattered. He settled back and soon fell asleep.