Learn from Ones Mistakes
Chapter 1- Learn from Ones Mistakes
The sun blazed down on the city of Agrabah with a fierce growl of humidity that left those within its walls frustrated with perspiration, envying the Sultan who most likely was bathed in the brisk walls of his elegant abode. The people loved their ruler, but they weren't in favor of dying from the unbearable heat, being whisked away in a blazing inferno of debilitating sweat that they cursed the royal name.
Day in, and day out, it was the same commotion. Stealing a loaf of bread to fill ones stomach, being chased by the palace guards and escaping by a thread of hair just in time to settle down to enjoy ones hard earned meal. He was sick of living like this, but being a "street rat" had a price to pay. It wasn't fun, but it was one big game. He blew his raven tresses from his eyes and looked back to see if any guards were making their way down the alleyway he had jumped into. None. With a sigh of relief, he climbed his way through the barrels and onto the other side of the street, his warm and crusty treasure safely tucked between his forearm and armpit. Grinning to himself, he dove into another empty sector and tore off the end of his prize and sampled, savoring the steamy flavor before remembering to chew and finally swallow. He continued this pattern until the loaf disappeared.
He was a boy identified in his late teens. His tresses lengthy and deep, with eyes as dark as chocolate and adorned in a violet vest, pants that were once white, now worn and patched at the knee, and the crown of his raven tresses were donned with a fez. He most certainly played the humble and homeless part.
Stealing had become second nature for the poor boy. He had been left on his own at the age of ten. He had progressed and advanced, wizened up to how things worked in Agrabah. Getting better at it than the last time he had stolen an apple; growing twice as swift; ever more clever in strategy. It was a horrible way to live. But, whether they liked it or not, this was peasantry living. Unless taxes were lowered, poverty was becoming larger than the population, if that was at all possible. Once again, the people cursed their beloved sultan.
As the street rat ate his loaf, commotion brewed elsewhere as a young woman no older than sixteen herself roamed Agrabah's marketplace, awaiting for an ignorant vendor to turn his back so she may partake in any of the delectable items he had freshly created for a consumer to purchase, or a street mouse to snatch.
"Just a little more..." she half muttered, eyeing this particular vendor carefully. Heavy set confirmed he lacked in agility. She had to plot accordingly and use his weakness to her advantage.
Elsewhere, trumpets played their melody, creating a congested mess before the palace balcony. The people awaited the announcement of their ruler. Uninterested, the young woman moved in and reached her hand out, fingertips brushing wood and a hint of the delicate peel of a red apple. The vendor turned around to see and she snatched her hand back. No go.
"Damn it," she muttered softly, withdrawing quickly and drew her attention elsewhere as the merchant looked over to her with a rather suspicious glance. She paid him no mind and looked up to the balcony. It was a blur, but she could make out the small little man that had been known as the sultan. Once again, he was grazing Agrabah's people once more with his presence.
"Oh what a treat," she muttered bitingly.
"Shush," a commoner silenced her. "The sultan has done many things for us. Placed a roof over our heads, gave us such fine food," And from there he prattled on his admonishment. The young woman shook her head softly, her eyes drifting towards the back of her head. How more wrong could this man be? Either he was brainwashed, blind, or just refused to believe that their ruler hadn't done a damn thing but raise the taxes and sit on his fat ass in the lap of luxury with his primp and proper brat. There was no greater reality, but she supposed some would rather bask in their ignorance.
"If you say so," she said, more so to get this man to stop his blather about something so far from the truth, it was practically delusion. She leaned against a cart. "So, what's going on?"
"As if you didn't know," he chuckled softly. "They're announcing the beginning of the many suitors to face Princess Jasmine. She must choose a husband, seeing as how once her father passes, she'll rule Agrabah. And what a fine job she'll do," he gave a rather satisfied sigh, which caused the young woman to contort her face in a rather disgusted fashion. The man frowned upon sight of her displeasure. "And just what do you have against the royal family?"
"Nothing, nothing at all," she waved the stranger off, looking up to see the small, stout man continuing on with his speech, the peculiar crowd that had gathered cheered. She tucked some of her brown locks behind her hair and frowned a bit as she watched. "I just don't understand, I guess."
The man smiled. He was reaching his twilight years, stood with a hunch, supported by a cane, clad with balding gray hair. He held a rather kind face, which was deceiving with heavy opinions and compliments towards the sultan. She had words in response to that, but she wasn't about to argue with an old man, so, she left it as is. Perhaps he remembered a time when Agrabah thrived, she'd never know. But, for now, she had other things to worry about.
"It was nice talking to you," he said, gave something of a wave and teetered on his merry way. His cane dug into the sand, passing through the small aisle in the middle of the marketplace to walk.
Once she was sure the elder was out of her vision, she turned back to the cart to see the owner's attention was fixed on the sultan. With a sneaky grin she slowly moved in, her arm sliding up to the wood siding, then to the soft lining of the cart, then felt a ripe apple. With itching fingers, she quickly plucked a side one; she gave a grin in triumph, but that wouldn't last for long the moment she heard the low growl of rumbling. With a fearful glance, she peeked up to see the apples threatening to spill. "No, no, no..." she pleaded with the fruit for a moment or so before she gave something of a shriek as the apples toppled onto her.
The vendor looked over to the racket which caused a disturbance of the sultan's speech to see his apples had vanished. The young woman groaned a little as she lifted her hand up and out of the pile, only to suddenly be grabbed by the wrist and held up for all to see.
"Thief!" the vendor shouted into her face as many others followed his loud voice. He shook her like a rag doll for a few moments, "Guards!" He shouted. "Guards!"
No way was she going to allow herself to be found out. It would mean losing her breakfast, yet, it was better than losing her wrist, or worse, her head. She wriggled about in his grasp, which caught him off guard momentarily, and caused enough friction to sweat and ultimately release her, and being dropped to the ground. She slid between the man's spread legs, hurried to her feet, and ran with the apple still intact in her hand. Hey, she even amazed herself sometimes.
She picked up her speed, climbed atop a few crates, then shot over a wall to lose anyone who may have been in back of her; she was far too afraid to look back. Sighing with relief she settled down against the wall, certain she had lost those who had been most likely to follow her. The young woman looked at the dark red apple in her hand and her eyes shimmered with delight. Leaning the apple into her lips, she felt a weight on her shoulder, and then felt it hop off along with her apple. She blinked in confusion for a moment and found a small brown ball of fur make off with her food.
"Hey!" She nearly died for her bit of food, and she wasn't going to let anyone take that away from her. The fur ball was fast, she had to admit, but, nonetheless was hot on its trail and would have caught it, if she didn't smack into something, or someone. Her whole world went black in a matter of seconds.