I sit at the little table, glass of Coke in hand, scanning the street outside for the person I’m meeting. I’m wearing khaki shorts and my work T-Shirt, the dark blue one with the words Zoo Staff on it, despite it being winter. My hair has begun to get streaks of brown in it and a light stubble has formed on my jaw. It’s been six years since all the chaos had happened and I’m taller (a little bit, anyway), older, wiser - ish. Finally ready to tell my story.
“Sorry I’m late,” the journalist says, the clacking of high heels silenced as she slides into the seat opposite. She brushes a few strands of red hair off her face and smiles. I smile back but my brain was whirring. She looks familiar… a voice in the back of my brain says slyly, maybe she’s-? I shut it up and concentrate on the journalist. She holds out a perfectly-manicured hand.
“Mel Edwardson,” she says. I take her hand and shake it. She flinches slightly at the coldness of my skin from the Coke and I smile a small smile to myself.
“Anyway,” she continues, taking a notebook out of her bag and a pen from behind her ear, “you arranged for this appointment, yes?”
“Yep,” I reply, Texan accent overriding my now-normal London one. I’m surprised at the sudden change in my voice but put it to the back of my mind. I have to concentrate.
“So you are Mr Jamie Hatchett?” Mel queries further. I nod. “Glad that’s confirmed. Now, Mr Hatchett-”
“Jamie, please.” Remind you of anyone? Someone who you now look exactly like? Shut up.
“Alright, Jamie. You can begin in your own time.” Mel reaches into her bag and takes out a small recording machine. Placing it close to me, she raises her pen above the paper and gets ready to write.
“Well,” I begin, “It started like this…
YOU ARE READING
The Pickpocket
Science FictionMy name is Jamie Hattchet. I'm fourteen years old and a trained actor/pickpocket. My life was pretty normal until I found the pocket watch. After that everything sort of spiralled out of control and my dad and I were flung through the pages of histo...
