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Write a story about a very skilled pickpocket. 

Posted in Character on Oct 26, 2022

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✍️ 65 stories

Picked The Wrong Pocket

Submitted to Contest #18

It used to be his profession until he spent some time in prison. That was years ago, now he had a good job, wife and two kids. Frankie Valoucci was a changed man, except he loved the skill he practiced for years, slipping a wallet out of a man’s pocket or woman’s purse. Some never noticed until they tried to retrieve it and found it missing. It had been years since he exercised his skills except to play with his kids putting things in their pockets or taking stuff out without their knowledge. His wife Doris frowned on even these ‘play’ acti...

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There One Moment… Gone the Next

Submitted to Contest #18

“Rita!” I scowl, grabbing my little sister’s arm which is elbow-deep in a fat lady’s purse.  The lady looks down at Rita with disgust, “Get your little rat’s hand out of my purse.” she growls, and swats at my sister’s curly-brunette hair.  “Yes, miss, sorry miss.” I apologize quickly, dragging Rita towards the busy pawn shop I deliver my goods to.  “Ritalinda Montres Sanders! What in Hell do you think you’re doing? You’re going to get us caught and beheaded! Do you want to have no head?” I ask furiously, shaking my sister’s ar...

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The Piper

Submitted to Contest #18

Lukas Hitch said the children go missing, because of Captain Arrowood’s train. But not a single train’s run through Smokey Hill, since 1894. All that’s left of them were the old tracks, barely stable, with mud piles and wildflowers grown in between, surrounded by an abandoned wood left barren of a human heart since the 80s when the first child went missing — Arthur Green. The part of town surrounding it was empty by the 90s, after the tenth child went missing — Amelia Bennett. But their captor, was not a train, let alone one belonging to a g...

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Melody of the Hunt

Shortlisted for Contest #18 ⭐️

Quiver and hunting bow were his most prized possessions, one slung over his shoulder, the other held tight with stained wood smooth under calloused fingertips. An arrow nocked in careful decision, he stalked silent through the lush forest growth. It was with a thrill in his blood, a trapped butterfly pulse beating beneath his skin, that he tracked the snapped ferns. The white catches of fur, the spare spottings of blood, they led him after the frenzied hare with an arrow shaft sticking splintered from its haunch. It was a dead thing walking,...

8 likes 4 comments 4
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The Pick Pocket Who Sang.

Submitted to Contest #18

“I pick-a-pocket, pick-a-pocket, that’s what I do! Try to get more than one pocket, one pocket’s a fluke. But ten or twenty a day, that’s the best way. It feeds my addiction; I eat like a king with all my winnings – some folks I picked were down right rich! I pick-a-pocket, pick-a-pocket, that’s all that I do!” Peter sings jovially as he saunters down a now empty street. It’s early morning, the Sun shines on happily – it doesn’t care who it’s shining for. Peter’s shoes cackle on the cobbled street stones., his knobbly knees jutting out from ...

8 likes 3 comments 3
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The Key to Reconciliation

Submitted to Contest #18

Henry Maddox sauntered down the dusty streets of Sweetwater, his scuffed boots kicking up clouds of dust into the air. As he neared the end of the main street, he took a sharp turn and stepped up onto the board sidewalk that looked as if it had seen more than one brawl on its wood planks.He was aware of several gazes following him down the street, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he stood outside the dual-swing double doors that led into the Lone Coyote saloon. Gray eyes traveling across the street, he caught a glimpse...

7 likes 1 comment 1
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Strange Encounter

Submitted to Contest #18

A red haired woman, peeked out the window before she stepped out of the Italian Coffee & Pastries Carriage. She pushed her face against the window, leaving a smudge from pressing her oval-shaped face against it, then her breath fogged up the window. She stood watching as it began to sprinkle outside, gray clouds touching in closer. Then the sound of thunder screeched, similar to someone beating on a drum.Just as the red head escaped out of the Italian Coffee & Pastries Carriage, a tall man, with broad shoulders, and long fingers, the...

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Song of Sparrows

Submitted to Contest #18

Song of Sparrows           I danced through the crowd, my hands deftly diving into pocket after pocket pulling forth wallets of all shapes and sizes. When the tourists went left towards the Empire State Building I continued straight. I plugged my earbuds into my ears and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket. Just another New Yorker walking down the street. No one saw me, they weren’t looking.The lock clicked as I closed the door behind me.“That you Kailey?” asked Beth from the ...

5 likes 3 comments 3
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Quick Hands

Submitted to Contest #18

"Not to brag," says Jack, "but between you and me, I'd make a better villain." "Yeah, right," Paisley groans. "You cry at everything." The ground feels thick under the teenagers' feet. The street is nearly empty of people. A red-head woman in heels the same color of her hair walks past them, her heels relieved to not strut into any potholes. Pale-faced lovers walk hand in hand, guiding each other through the darkness. Passerby ignore the teens, and teens ignore them. "So what?" Jack scoffs. He takes offense to Paisley's words, but he hope...

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Hidden Truths

Submitted to Contest #18

Piper sank slowly onto an old pillow. Shaking, she lay her head in-between her knees."Piper, c'mon. You know it isn't what it could have been," I pleaded."But it was terrible." Her voice trembled with emotion. I hardly recognized her. A few months ago we had been living the life in an apartment. Then like a magic trick-POOF! Done. Kicked out to live on the streets with the rats."Piper, it was better than our last run," I tried again, crouching down beside her and wrapping my arms around my knees, as if making myself into a tight ball would f...

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Crossed Lines

Submitted to Contest #18

Look, I’m a thief. I’m not going to pretend otherwise or give it any fancy name or make out that I’m some kind of latter day Robin or Robina Hood. Though come to that, Robin can be a woman’s name, too.  But it’s not mine. My Mum landed me with the name Verity. You couldn’t make it up. I do it because I’m good at it and it beats working in a call centre or a kitchen and it beats signing on benefits hands down.     I have certain principles. I generally leave old ladies alone, though how m...

5 likes 0 comments 0
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Gapper

Submitted to Contest #18

I didn't want to steal. None of my gang did. There was only one- Rebrandt- who enjoyed it. And he is the worst thiever here. Believe me, our training at the Warehouse was not easy. That's why we are amazing at thievin'. I glance out at the people before me- sniveling, frightened boys desperate enough to be adopted into a gang rather than face the confines of a Boy's Home. Yes, when our leader, Jack Paulie, heard of our loneliness and came to recruit us, we were frightened. The prospect of working at a Warehouse with a bunch of strange orphan...

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The Pine Valley Pickpocket

Submitted to Contest #18

Before I begin telling my story, I have to write out a timeline of what happened just prior to what happened, so you have a clear idea why it happened:May 18, 2013 -- I became a cop for the Pine Valley Police Department.March 22, 2015 -- Pine Valley PD started new, updated trainings on pickpocketing in the 21st century, which was needed because the last one showed Walkmans and bundles of cash wrapped in scrunchies.September 9, 2015 -- Kevin, my ex boyfriend and longest lasting relationship, dumped me after finding out about my excessive gamb...

4 likes 2 comments 2
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Wyatt Wyndham

Submitted to Contest #18

Wyatt Wyndham is not a lad you’d be quick to bring home to ma’ and pa’, and he most certainly is not the type to bring you home to his, that is, if he had either a place or parents to bring you home to at all. His parents left, or rather, he left his parents, a few years ago now, and since then, he’s never looked back, at least not in that same figurative sense, for, as his current occupation demands, looking sideways, up, down, around, and especially back, is a necessity. But, more on that later, let us first, unlike Wyatt, look back to his...

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Luck and the Pickpocket

Submitted to Contest #18

I rock back and forth from my heels to my toes, just like I do each time I wait on this platform on my way to meet her. I imagine that I stand in this spot every time I’m here, and that there are grooves no one knows about that have been worn down by my feet. It makes me feel permanent and untouchable, like no matter how much time passes, my mark will be left behind.Screaming rails and a dim beam of light announces the train’s coming to relieve me from my duty of making myself eternal. Just as it does each day.And just like I do each day, I ...

3 likes 1 comment 1
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