The Chimney Sweeper

Prologue

The busy streets of London were swarming with people buying Christmas presents. It was the eve of Christmas Eve after all, so the commotion was to be expected. Everyone was too busy rushing around to spend time with their families. Frustrated, officer Reynolds kicked an empty can that was lying around. He couldn’t fathom how nobody else seemed to realize how silly it all looked; mothers dragging their children around in the snow from shop to shop, young men pushing each other over in the attempt to obtain the finest pieces of jewelry - for courting means, no doubt - the occasional petty thief dashing and knocking over stands while being chased by a patrolling officer-

Wait! A thief! Reynolds blew into his standard issue Scotland Yard police whistle and went in pursuit. What luck! Something to take his mind off of this perverted "holiday" that had turned into naught but a pathetic example of modern day idolatry. While swimming against the current of the masses, he quickly estimated his objective’s trajectory and calculated a vector to cut the crook off. In the midst of this sudden chase, Reynolds made a quick mental note on how what school had taught him had come to use after all.

He chuckled, but distracted by his nostalgia induced euphoria, he ran into a top hat wearing gentleman-like figure and fell on the snow covered icy pavement. After briefly cursing his now dirty and wet uniform that he had just gotten washed, he got up and let out a quick but effective "Excuse-me-bye", although there was nobody to receive it; the gentleman was already gone. After mouthing something about proper manners,  he prepared to relaunch his pursuit, only to discover that due to a slight concussion, as well as his overall loss of sense of direction, both resulting from his earlier unfortunate collision, he had gotten himself lost in the crowd.

16 years in that God forsaken city and he couldn’t tell North from South. He cursed. The now irritated officer decided to rely on the knowledge and goodwill of the capital's civilians and stopped a nearby couple by shoving his badge in their faces. Lovely, but he had no time for pleasantry. Like the professional that he fancied himself, he quickly gathered the information he needed, and so, despite being still fazed from his fall, Reynolds forced himself to set off. He could not let crime win, after all. No matter the stakes. He had made a promise. The promise to… His eyesight began deteriorating rapidly. Something was wrong. He felt dizzy. He tried holding on to the lamp post next to him, but to no avail; he fell down head first and heard a distant-sounding “thump” sound. Blood flowed down the pavement. As his consciousness was fading away, he suddenly realised it - something he had missed, but it was too late. Frustrated with his incompetence, he cursed his existence.  He was afraid… afraid to let go. He closed his eyes and pictured his mother’s kitchen, and strangely, despite the cold, he felt a surge of warmth within himself. He cursed the world one last time.