Chapter One: Life's Just One Big Jail

"Get that boy!"

That's how my day always kicks off. I jumped over a barrel and past a singing cat. The angry mob of bakers were still chasing me. I held on tight to my rucksack, making sure the loaved of bread didn't fall out. I'm a thief, if you didn't know. The name's Kent. Kent Niagara. It's a surprise that a waterfall is named after my surname, or the other way around. I made a living out of stealing. Lots of other people do it too. It's not like I'm the most wanted criminal in the city. I just like to think that my parents didn't raise me right. Other people may say I chose the wrong path, but the truth is, I'm just like the hard-working,loyal people who inhabit this life, or like the bakers chasing me who make an honest living. I like to think that it's honest enough if lie convincingly about it.

There were closing in fast, with their painfully, sharp and stale bread. Of course I took from the fresh loaf, if you think I didn't, because there would be no point in being in this situation. If you're going to steal, you have to know what you're doing. I'm not the fittest nor the fastest in the world. I like to think of myself as a smart, intellectual, cunning thief, hiding in the shadows of the unknown, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. I sound more heroic if you get to know me better.

I took a right down E46 Lavender Street, then used the streetlight to squeeze between Hodder Building and Swiss Tax Office. The bakers persisted in following me, changing my whole meaning from Baker's Bun to Baker's Run. They were doing some kind of quick-stepped, flat-footed jig that they did while they were running.   

I tried to squeeze faster, but the two buildings were so tight I don't even know how I managed to move and breathe. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it out alive. My whole body was burning with sweat, and my tiny lungs were gasping for air. My, old, ragged rucksack was taking up too much space, and I didn't know how long it would be before I would need my asthma pump. Hodder Building was a wide, long building, and for some odd reason, the bakers had managed to catch up to me.

Thinking I had no choice, I reached for my rucksack, but my hand was being blocked by and object which seemed to be a thin trash can. I then realized it wasn't my hand that was stuck, but it was my torn, tattered glove. Some part of it was stuck onto a twig burnt of the trash can, and unless I can take it out, and hopefully manage to outrun the bakers, I'm dead meat.

All of a sudden, one of the bakers, who looked to be the expert in knives, pulled out a large, stained butcher's knife from the back of his dirty, filthy apron. He had a smile on his face, which said Now you're going to wish you had never stolen from us, before he walked over to me. I tried to force the glove out, but my weakness had got the worst out of me. The baker waved the butcher's knife in the air, before he charged at my arm. I was about to lose my arm, when suddenly, the twig broke, and I fell to the ground. I landed in a pile of filthy garbage. The bakers cursed themselves as they tried to squeeze through faster. 

I chose this moment as an opportunity to lose the bakers, so I quickly grabbed my rucksack, got the filthy garbage off me, and ran down Lincoln Street, and took a left turn, all the way to Route 49. Route 49 was commonly known as the Devil's Street. The reason it had been given this name was because, unlike the whole city, Route 49 was a foggy, dark, gloomy, mystical street.  It was said that you could go through it, but you could never come out. I was in a tough situation, and I could hear the soft footsteps of the bakers and their curses, so I had no other choice but to enter.

As I was getting more and more further inside Route 49, I watched as everything slowly started to lose colour. The buildings were turning grey, and a small fog was heading in my direction. I increased my speed, and it was only a few minutes later when I slowed down, and turned my sprint into a nice, gentle jog, making sure I had lost the bakers. I laughed, as I knew there was no way they could find me. After that I stopped on the spot, and checked my rucksack to see if the fresh loaf of bread hadn't fallen out. I wrapped it in some of my left over tin foil so it wouldn't rot. 

A few seconds later, I could here some footsteps behind me. Somehow, the bakers had managed to find me. I tried to run away, but a hand grabbed my hood, stopping me from running away. I watched as the bakers slowly pulled out a bunch of butcher's knives, and slowly walked towards me...