The Prince and The Thief

Prologue

The loud thunder outside accompanying the heavy downpour was nothing compared to the one in her mind. The eyes of the wrinkled woman darted from the bolted door to her home to the 10 year old boy  who  sat opposite to her on the floor and was happily reading aloud a story from the book she brought him. Death didn't scare her. After all, she took up the job, fully aware of the consequences. But, she was scared for the little boy, who had just begun realising his dream of going to school. 

"Grandma, I love this story," the boy declared, finally closing the book. The older woman smiled at the child and gestured him to come and lie on her lap, which he readily did. The boy glanced at his grandma who kept softly caressing his hair, lost in thoughts. "Grandma, what happened?" he asked seeing tear drops trickle down his grandmother's eyes. She shook her head as if to say, "it's nothing" and wiped away her tears, saying "sleep." "Grandma, tell me a story," the boy requested after a while, as he kept caressing his grandma's hand that was on his chest. "What story? You just read one, didn't you?" she asked. "It had been very long since I heard a story from you. Please tell me," he requested. How could she not give in to this adorable child? "Okay, tell me which story you want to hear," the woman said to which the boy furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. "Tell me the story of  a prince," he responded after a few moments, smiling. "Aren't you too old for a prince story?" his grandmother chuckled. "Tell me please," he asked again to which  the woman nodded her head. "Once upon a time, there lived a prince who was as pretty as a flower," she began. "Pretty as a flower? Are you telling me a princess story?" the boy asked, confused. "No..no...the prince was pretty as a flower," his grandmother said to which the boy nodded his head in understanding, though he was still questioning in his mind as to how a prince can look pretty. "So the pretty prince lived in the palace all sad. He had no friends, no one to talk to. He was always surrounded by body guards and servants who fed him, dressed him and taught him etiquette," the woman said to which the grandson looked at her deep in thoughts. "He had such a cozy life. Why would he feel sad?" the woman gently smiled hearing what the boy just said. "Son, sometimes not having a cozy life is so much better. If you have to choose between luxury and freedom, the latter is always the best choice," the grandmother advised before continuing her story. "So the prince finally fell in love with his bodyguard," she said to which the boy raised his eyebrows. "Wow, a girl bodyguard?" he asked, excited. "No son. A boy bodyguard," the woman explained. "How can a boy fall in love with a boy?" he asked confused. "Because, son, love is just love. It is an emotion beyond things like gender. You won't understand now," she said, as she continued caressing her grandson's hair. "Hmm," the boy nodded his head, "so what happened?" he asked. "So the prince fell so in love that he started smiling and his otherwise colourless life started being colourful. But soon, the king found out and he was so angry. The king's men took the bodyguard away and no one heard of the prince ever since," the woman said. "Why would you tell me a sad story? I wanted to hear a happy one," the boy pouted. "Okay, I am sorry. I'll tell you a better story next time. Now sleep. Grandma is tired," the woman said as she kept patting her grandson's chest before turning off the lights. Soon the boy felt drowsy and he closed his eyes feeling his grandmother's palms slowly patting his chest. 

Few hours into his sleep, the boy heard a loud thud, that startled him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes,  to see his grandmother stand in front of him, her back facing him. She had her hands spread on both sides and she was speaking to someone in front of her. The boy got up from where he sat to get a better view of what was happening. Suddenly he saw few men grab his grandmother away from where she stood. The boy froze on his spot, his throat so dry that no voice came out when he tried screaming. "Run, son run, please run away," he could hear his grandmother's voice. The next moment, he felt someone grab him by his neck from behind. The boy struggled in his attacker's grasp, before he felt something cold touch his throat. He looked down, struggling to see what it was, the only source of light in the room being the street light that came inside through the now open door. "Nooo," he heard his grandmother scream.  "Grandma," the boy mumbled to which the grasp on his neck grew tighter. "Shut up," the man who stood behind him growled into his ears. "So are you going to tell us or not?" the man spoke again, this time looking at the direction where the woman was now held down by few men. "I don't know, please. Please leave my child, please," she begged.  "Son, please run away," the woman screamed, looking at her grandson and the next moment, one of the men holding her slapped her hard on the cheeks. The boy felt his blood boil and with every strength he had, he bit down the hand that was holding him. "Ahhh! B*stard!" the man behind him screamed, taking his hand away. The next moment, the boy grimaced in  pain, feeling something sharp cut through his left cheek. His hand involuntarily traveled to the cheek that now had a  long open wound and he felt blood drip down his neck and hands. But  the boy knew that he had no time to stop and think.

Realising that he was free from the man's hold, he moved forward to his grandmother. "Please run away, please don't look for me son, please run away," he heard her voice, stopping him from moving any further. His eyes welled up, not knowing what do. He knew that he didn't have the strength to fight the five men in the room. The boy turned back to see the man whom he just bit, approach him with the knife and so, he took a last glance at his grandmother, before running out as fast as he could. He could feel the rain drops hitting hard against his shoulders and the blue shirt and the black shorts he wore, stick to his skin.  Reaching just a few houses away from his own, the boy heard a gunshot from behind.  "Grandma," he cried, stopping in his tracks. But he suddenly remembered that his grandmother had asked him to run without looking back and so he did, into the darkness, letting the raindrops that fell on his face hide his tears and the pain in his heart dominating the pain he felt on his cheek.