A six year old Oliver was hopping along the rocky road, splashing in muddy piles. His father walked beside him, laughing as he got splashed by Oliver’s small young feet.
They were coming home from a robbing spree and had acclaimed a sack of carrots, a slice of bread, one potato, and a sausage link. Oliver’s father carried all of their findings over his shoulders, all combined in one huge sack.
They arrived at a small stone house with a small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a dining room. They had a pot outside to do their business in and went only at certain times of day… or night.
Oliver opened the door for his father and searched his house for his older brother Patrick. He found him in a couple of seconds. He was sorting out what water or other drinks they had.
“Do you want to play a game” Oliver asked.
“Is it a game where I can chase you around?” Patrick asked, playfully. Oliver already started running before Patrick leapt to grab him. Oliver thought he was racing faster than the winds when Patrick grabbed his legs.
“How’d you get me?” Oliver pouted.
“A magician never reveals his secrets” Patrick said.
“You’re not a magician” Oliver hissed.
“I ain’t got time for that” Patrick said.
“Time for what?” Oliver asked. Patrick laughed and rubbed Oliver’s fuzzy head.
After dinner the humorous family did their favorite tradition of keeping their neighbors up by playing music. They played off key notes, terrible rhythms, and were all off tempo but they loved every second until apples were shot against their windows. That’s when they calmed down and went to bed in their tiny, low, straw beds.
Oliver was now seventeen years old. He and his mother were sneaking threw a dark alleyway to steal a full dead turkey. His Mother acted like a costumer who was searching for money in her purse. Oliver stepped up to the turkey and swiped it. He dived underneath the table and his mother pointed and screamed to distract the man. The pair fled after Oliver knocked the table on the salesmen.
After they were over five blocks away they stopped to catch their breath.
“Well done hero” his mother purred. That was her nickname for him.
“Heroes don’t steal” Oliver replied.
“You’re so humble and kind. I’m so proud of you” she said and clamped his cheeks. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach his face. “You’re getting tall too and strong”. Her eyes glittered.
“It’s how you raised me” he replied.
“I bet your going to fall in love with the princess, like in fairytales. If not the princess then it’ll be someone even more beautiful” she dreamt. Oliver knew that would never happen. The King decided to choose all the marriages a few months ago. Queen Ira might take him as one of her servants.
Oliver was now twenty years old. He was coming home from a stealing trip with his father. They wore clothes underneath so they could strip to a new outfit and decrease the possibility of them being caught even more. His father had shoulder length gray hair and a small beard. Oliver decided to stay clean shaven and keep his hair pretty short.
They arrived home and dropped their newly found items. Their eyes widened in shock as they saw all their upturned and destroyed tables, chair, and belongings. A note was pinned to the house saying “Khione King and Patrick King have been taking to be in the army or a personal servant for the King”. Oliver yelled in agony and punched a hole straight threw his house. Tears poured down his face as he picked up remnants of his broken guitar. Happy family moments were destroyed with it. He ignored the broken glass he stepped on as he examined a fragment from the clothes she wore that day. He clutched it tightly and cried.
