In the heart of the unforgiving slum, young Arthur knew nothing beyond the squalor, the hunger that gnawed at his insides, and the bitter memories of a childhood spent in destitution. He couldn't recall his parents or his place of origin; all he had ever known was the relentless struggle for survival.
At the tender age of seven, he had already grown adept at masking the pangs of starvation that clawed at him daily. The only nourishment he knew came from the occasional scraps of food he managed to scavenge, or the meager offerings from kind-hearted strangers. His life was a relentless cycle of empty stomachs and unfulfilled wishes.
On one particularly harsh day, the sun bore down mercilessly on the slum's narrow streets, and Arthur found himself once again on the brink of despair. His small frame had grown even thinner, his eyes sunken with hunger. He joined the ranks of other beggars, calling out to passersby with the faint hope that someone might take pity on their plight.
Beneath the scorching sun, Arthur's frail form stood among a ragged assembly of beggars. Each bony hand reached out, their voices calling out for the scraps of food or a glimmer of mercy.
"Please, kind souls, a morsel of bread?" Arthur's tiny voice rang out, echoing the pleas of his fellow beggars.
"Disgusting wretches," she muttered, quickening her pace and dismissing them with a wave of her hand.
The streets were unforgiving, and the eyes of the wealthy nobles who occasionally passed by were colder still. One particularly haughty lady, draped in finery, glared at the beggars in disgust.
As he languished in his pitiable state, his hollow eyes chanced upon a scene that played out before him, one he had witnessed numerous times before. A desperate thief, perhaps driven by the same hunger that tormented Arthur, dared to steal from a wealthy noblewoman who passed by. But fate was unkind, and the thief was quickly apprehended by the guards, their iron-clad grip snuffing out any hopes of relief.
"Thief! Thief! Catch him quickly!" the noblewoman cried out in disdain.
"What's the point of stealing?" Arthur whispered to a fellow beggar, an elderly man with a deeply lined face. "They always get caught in the end."
The old man sighed, his voice carrying the weight of countless experiences. "Desperation drives them, young one. It's not about logic or planning; it's about the gnawing hunger in their bellies."
Soon enough the thief was caught kneeling before her, the thief begged, "Forgive me, noble lady. It's the hunger that drives me, not malice."
"Take him away!" The noble lady shouted.
For young Arthur, this event was a sadly familiar one, an occurrence he had observed many times in the slum. These thieves were daring fools, driven by insatiable hunger to steal from those who had more than they could ever need. In his small, tattered shoes, it seemed to him that these thieves courted despair, their daring acts merely a cruel jest of fate.
As nightfall descended, Arthur's hunger remained unquenched, and he sought shelter for the night. With nowhere else to go, he curled up on the hard, unforgiving road. But even there, he found no solace. The space was not his alone, and the street-dwellers chased him away with shouts and harsh words. Left with nothing but the cold, unfeeling cobblestones beneath him, he watched the moon with despair in his heart.
"Get out of here!" one of the beggars shouted, pushing Arthur away.
"Yeah, find your own spot!" another chimed in, his voice laced with bitterness.
Squashed between the harshness of the cobblestones and the harshness of those who shared his plight, Arthur's night was long and uncomfortable. With hunger clawing at his insides and his heart heavy with the despair of the slum, he gazed up at the moon. Its gentle glow was a stark contrast to the world he knew.
Morning broke, bringing another harsh day.
Arthur returned to his familiar corner, joining the chorus of beggars once more. His voice was but a whisper amidst the cacophony, a feeble plea for sustenance.
With the new day's arrival, Arthur's story remained unchanged. His belly ached with hunger, and he returned to his daily ritual of begging. It was in this fragile state of vulnerability that he witnessed something that would forever etch itself into his young mind.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted as another thief emerged from the shadows once more, daring to steal from those who possessed more than they could ever need, hands darting skillfully to pilfer a noble's purse. Arthur's eyes widened with disbelief, but this time, something was different. The thief was quick, agile, and appeared to vanish into thin air.
A beggar beside Arthur muttered, "That one's got more cunning than most. But they'll meet the same fate soon enough."
Surrounded by other beggars, the bystanders murmured, "That thief won't last long; they're bound to be caught."
But this thief was different, displaying an artful skill that had thus far eluded the grasp of the law. Gracefully, the thief moved, nimbly evading the watchful eyes of the guards, scaling walls and leaping across rooftops like a phantom in the night. A pitiable existence no longer, Arthur watched with awe and envy as the thief wove through the tangled web of peril, escaping the clutches of justice.
But as the thief deftly navigated the winding alleyways, their escape seemed certain. Awe filled Arthur's eyes. "Did you see that? They're not like the others. They might actually get away."
"Desperation breeds ingenuity," the elderly beggar mused. "We're not much different from that thief, young one. Hunger forces us all to be daring."
Frustration boiled up in Arthur. "You always talk like you're so wise, but here you are, just another beggar like the rest of us."
The old beggar's eyes twinkled with understanding, and he laid a frail hand on Arthur's shoulder. "True wisdom, young one, comes not from knowing all the answers but from seeking them. Remember, we're all trying to survive the unforgiving slum in our own way."
"Yeah yeah" Replied by arthur while rolling his eyes.
Arthur once again look at the spot where the thief had vanished. There, in the dingy alleyway, amidst the muck and misery, he glimpsed something different—an escape from the cycle of poverty and hunger that had ensnared him. The idea of being swift, cunning, and daring had taken root in his young heart. For the first time, he saw a glimmer of hope, a flicker of inspiration amidst the despair.
Feeling an ember of determination ignite within him, Arthur thought to himself, "I can be like that thief. I can be swift, daring, and clever. I don't have to stay trapped in this endless misery." The world he had known was one of darkness and despair, but now, he saw a faint ray of light piercing through, illuminating the possibility of something different.
The elderly beggar, shaking his head, criticized Arthur's newfound determination. "You're but a small and frail child, what can you do with a body like yours? Running away won't change your fate."
Arthur, stung by the old man's discouragement and fueled by the spark of inspiration he had just experienced, couldn't hold back his response. "Shut up, old man. I can do more than you think."