The Honor Code of a Thief


Thanks to the advice of a friend, I’ve decided to try blogging daily again. My schedule is looking something like this: On Mondays, I’ll be doing link lists, sharing with you guys some interesting and useful blogs or sites to help you with your writing projects. Tuesdays, I’ll be sharing a piece of poetry. Wednesdays will continue to be writing prompt days. Thursdays (that’s today!), I will be responding to a prompt that I found on Pinterest, as I used to do on Wednesdays. Fridays will also remain as they are, where I’ll write about writing-related questions or thoughts that have come to mind during the week. Saturdays are when I’ll be posting book reviews, but since I generally can’t read a book in a week, if I don’t have a review to post, I’ll focus on analyzing characters or plot from favorite books or well-known TV shows. And, finally, Sundays will revolve around questions that I’ve come across as a reader/writer.

Because I’ll be blogging every day, my posts will likely be shorter than they usually are.


Text appears on my screen.

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I’m waiting for the perfect moment to strike my target – a target that, incidentally, is one that the text’s sender wants me to target. He’s supposed to be some honorable, well-to-do man, but that’s what they all claim to be until they need someone out of their way. Then guess who they call? Me.

I don’t respond to the text. It’s a jibe and we both know it. Still, it’s funny.

Most people do not have high expectations of criminal morals, I’ve found. You steal things, and they think you’re capable of murder too. You lie, and they think you’re going to betray them. It’s always a pleasant thing, seeing the look on someone’s face when they realize a criminal has more honor than they do. Well, I have never met the man – we’ve only communicated through these untraceable phones – but his indignation at my polite responses – at my hint that he sure seems like a good fellow, asking me to pickpocket another man who quite possibly doesn’t deserve it – was well worth the jibe.

Everyone’s got a code to live by, and I’ve got mine. I’m a thief by trade because I enjoy having money, and no good thief is honest. If someone comes up and asks are you the thief, of course you’re going to lie. But, to be truthful – if you can believe the truth of a liar – I’ve found that no one is truly honest anyway. At least I’m open about it. At least I don’t hide behind a mask of perpetual “honesty” and “honor.” Honor doesn’t buy you food or help you pay for a place to sleep.

My target begins to move, and I slip out of the shadows, hands shoved in my pockets. I am the perfect image of innocence and nonchalance as I follow him. I bump past, one hand going into his pocket, then rebound. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, my other hand raised apologetically.

The man thinks nothing of it. It’s a busy street. We go our separate ways, him none the wiser.

I finally unlock my phone. Excellent manners for an excellent thief, I respond.


Camp NaNo update! I’ve hit 4,792 words, nearly 900 words over where I should be.


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