Downfall [ONC 2023] // Shortlisted

The Thirteenth

The boot polish factory stayed open later than usual that night.

I had been watching it for several nights, following their closing times as closely as I could, so I knew when and where I could strike. They closed just before dark, with the owner not lingering longer than he had to. He didn't stay to close up the factory gates, his workers did that for him.

On this particular night, they stayed open long after darkness had settled across the city. I didn't know if Mr Charles Pick would stay later than usual or follow his usual routine, but I watched him anyway. Sometimes the opportunities I needed merely fell into my lap and I hoped that this night could be the same sort of thing. I couldn't wait any longer.

Mr Pick employed countless children in his factory, small hands that could do the work far easier than a grown man or woman might be able to. Even though he employed children, he failed to treat them with the kindness they deserved and needed in their formative years. They had food removed from them, worked long, tireless hours, and had little to no access to education.

He broke countless laws and didn't care about who got hurt and how.

I hid in a nearby alleyway,, my back pressed against the brick wall of the nearest building. The stench of the Thames seemed stronger than usual, and the air had a bitter chill to it, a cold that could not be hidden. We were well and truly in Winter's grasp. My breath created a light vapour in the air, a vapour that would give me away.

This would have to be done quickly to avoid anyone seeing me. Winter created the shadows that acted as my protection, but exposed me with its bitter wind. I had to succeed, though, for the good of the people of London.

The end-of-day bell rang. Its sound cut through the quiet of the city, sending pigeons scattering into the air and no doubt making a few officers nearby jump. They were all remarkably wary. I couldn't see what had made them act in such a way.

I remained clinging to the nearby wall, watching as the children stumbled into the darkness. Under the few lamps that lined the streets, I could see the soot and boot polish covering their small faces. They were exhausted after hours of work, their feet scuffing along the ground as they stumbled through the dark to their beds.

It made my blood boil.

When all the children had dragged themselves away from the factory, Mr Pick appeared. He walked with a limp, using a black cane to keep his balance over London's uneven streets. A man like that could not run from me. He was an easy enough target. I just had to get him in the right place at the right time.

His carriage, which usually arrived on time, had been delayed. A fallen wagon had blocked the route it usually took. My time had arrived.

I checked the surroundings to make sure the officers were not hanging around and that his workmen weren't likely to appear any time soon. No one appeared. I removed the hammer from my waistband and crept across the stones, listening for any approaching footsteps. All was silent.

London slept on.

Mr Pick heard nothing as I approached him. He pulled his pocket watch from his pocket and glanced down at the ticking hands, readjusting his weight on the cane. I snuck up behind him, raising the hammer as high as I could.

He didn't even hear me coming as I brought the hammer down onto the back of his head. Mr Pick crumpled to the ground like a sheet of balled-up paper. I hit him again just to be on the safe side.

With London's streets still crawling with officers and his workmen due out of the factory in a matter of minutes, I took off running, the hammer still in my hand.

I only stopped when I arrived home. When I knew I was safe from watchful eyes. The house was dark.

No one had even noticed my absence.

~~~

First Published - February 14th, 2023