I have been on the streets for nearly all of my life, until now. My name is Marc Jacobs. I have never seen nor known my parents. My guardian Dean Matson found me abandoned in a wooden fruit crate
under a bench in the smokey King's Cross station. He took me in, not because of his kindness but his greed. From the day I could walk and talk he has used me forexcruciating, back-braking labour. My room mates and I were forced to work in fields under the scorching sun. If we refused to work, we would be beaten raw by Dean’s wooden cane. As I grew, so did my rage. I set up a plan to get me out of that hell hole. So one night, when all was quite, I crept into Dean’s gloomy office and started up a sea of flames. This caused an excellent distraction for me to sneak out of the back door. I ran away. I didn’t have a set direction but I knew to go as far away as I could. I would never want to return.
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It Wasn't Worth It After All
Short Story"It was half way out of my victim’s pocket, when a leather hand grasped my arm." That hell hole orphanage,I escaped it.Me, Marc Jacobs will go to London. I need to survive still, got no money on me. Pickpocketing will work. Here I go easy and steady...
