I disappoint myself. This is probably my worst fanfic ever! Purple prose!? HOW DARE I!? Description porn!? GEEPEERS FREAKING CREEPERS! I see that... I am lame. I watched the movie and stuff came to my mind. Guilty, plz. I feel like a dirty bi- I mean, I should be lynched.

Sigh, you may read the short story. Yes, this is a short story. Oneshot, if you must rely on urban words. 3,000 words, though, are like so many and 8 (not including the opening and ending AN) pages according to Microsoft Word did not help. So pregnant with words and egregiously flowery, eugh! Read away~

The Thief of the Cobbler

Poor thief. Poor nameless, unpleasant, foul-smelling thief.

Things were never the same for him, unfortunately. He did not know if he could call himself a thief anymore. It was some time ago when he unintentionally saved the Golden City from the impending destruction by stealing—which many have mistaken him as retrieving—the golden balls and from then on, many have recognized him as some sort of hero.

Doesn't sound too bad, right?

Frankly, the thief thought it was good at first, but he felt that it got out of hand when every time he'd emerge from the shadows, people would often identify him as the man who somewhat saved the city from the evil One-Eyes. This meant that he couldn't be as sneaky as he was back then because everybody knows him now. Shame.

The thief had spent years in the city attempting to steal but ultimately fail because they always spotted him and they also knew his hiding places. As a result, he ran away from the city—that was only what he wanted them to think.

The thief walked around the palace, mostly underneath its patterns so he'd not be seen by the guards. For a while he secretly lived in the dungeon's cells. Never mind that no one bothered to go there but it was an adequate enough place to crash in. For a good amount of weeks he stayed there, still in hiding. During his unauthorized stay, he had stolen a few things. He needed no reason or a particular victim, he just couldn't help himself.

Anyhow, the thief walked around the palace and went through some of the most complex rooms ever. He wasn't really sure why he's just aimlessly roaming but it was nice seeing all the wonderful colors and patterns of the palace's interior had to offer. He often wondered if someone has walked around here before and died from getting lost. Nevertheless, he took the time in looking at the glorifying strangeness of it all.

He settled himself back to his cell again when he got tired. It was amazing that he had able to retrace his steps. Unsurprisingly, he brought some new stolen goods from his sightseeing. Some of them are food in order for him to live another day. The thief being as thin as a twig, he really should give himself a treat.

At the end of the day, the thief was feeling bored to death. The main reason was because that ended up cloistering himself in a miserable hole of a cell and though he still thieves, it didn't have the same thrill it had like when he did it in public.

He was a thief but he didn't think his standards could get any lower, he thought.

He was reduced to a thief that is rather trying hard to do what he once did best. He thought that he didn't feel like he stole any of the things he's stolen because he was still inside the castle, and it barely broke any laws. Stealing, he thought was more legitimate if done in the presence of a crowd as he tries to be careful an see that no one was watching him. To him, this doesn't feel like theft. It's merely, borrowing without asking, he thought—the ironic excuse of every person who actually steals one's possessions.

Which is why he wished to steal something completely different.

The thief began to think. Prized possessions are not enough for him anymore. A thief of his calibre who never gave up and that actually managed to steal the three golden balls would dare to go beyond. Stealing treasure, money, clothes and/or whatever he could get his sticky hands on was child's play for him.

The suckers could practically retrieve their missing precious things. He had one too many arrests to recall some of his encounters with the law and had them force him to return the stuff he'd stolen. Nothing lost, nothing gained. And he thought more and more to find out what he could possibly steal that the victim could never get back... Also irreplaceable and it cannot be bought ever again.

More thinking time ensued.

Embarrassing! How could he just let himself get totaled by an old lady like that? It's a good thing that the square she was walking on was extraordinarily deserted. He'll think twice next time when he tries to get a hold of someone's bananas (AN: make of that what you will).

Meanwhile, a cobbler, aptly named Tack, continued to work in his sleep, hammering and whatnot. He hit his thumbs, adjusted the tacks in his mouth, pulled a needle from his pants and puts an imaginary thread through it. God knows what he's dreaming about.

Trying his luck elsewhere, the thief decided to go to a random house. The house was unlike any other; shoes were hanging about everywhere. Through the pair of boots near the entrance, he looked around and went upstairs.

Right away, he saw the cobbler soundly asleep. He focused on his patched pockets and attempted to snatch something from it—a tiny little sack filled with...nothing. Save for a moth.

Then he thought, 'whatever'. Before he could get away, the sleeping cobbler started to knock on the thief's head with a hammer. Suddenly, Tack stretched his body open and accidentally pinned down the thief between his legs, strangling him a little. Tack pulled out a needle and thread and began sewing the thief's robe on his baggy pants. Still, sound asleep, let it be known. Now, the thief was really struggling.

Before it could be noted that the incident was eerily familiar, in an unexpected turn of events which the thief tried to pull himself away from the cobbler, he managed to do so but ripping off the cobbler's pants, exposing bare legs with striped socks.

He was certain that he could escape now but something caught his attention. The natural spotlight above the cobbler's ceiling shone on his still lying body and his skin started to change color. He could've sworn he just saw him as pale as chalk dust seconds ago but... Tan! That fast? Was it because he's much more exposed now and the sunlight easily gave him more melanin? He was sleeping there all day so how could his face and arms not get tan by then?

Regardless, the thief's eyes were currently at him. He found the cobbler, suddenly fascinating. His bare legs looked a lot more strapping than he thought. He thought the cobbler looked pale but he expected him to frail as well. He certainly had skinny arms but not as stick-like as his, the thief's. Curiosity settled and he wanted to see more of him.

He went closer to him, observing his body from nearby. He's more focused on the legs and he carefully stroked them with bony fingers.

Tack twitched a bit but he's still not out of his slumber. The thief was taking advantage of it and things then came into his thoughts. How the cobbler looked so innocent like that. Not even snoring; just sleeping like a little boy, dreaming. A slow movement from his chest due to his gentle breathing, he also took notice. The thief can't help but suddenly feel warm inside. It was not because the city was in the middle of the desert, it's just him.

Ever so carefully, his hands went up to his torso and unbuttoned the patch covered shirt, revealing more of his toned skin. He stopped halfway to observe his now bare chest. Even though they're not as bulged as hills or as flat as a chopping board, he can still see some indications that he worked out. He probably got it from so much hammering. Speaking of which, he started to take half of the cobbler's top off to see his arms and they too looked as strapping as his legs.

Shortly, he snapped himself out of this since he can't comprehend his motive for this, at all. He barely knew this person. He's practically a stranger, so why on earth was he interested in this thing? If it was because of his body- No, he was not going there. He is not like that. Why [he'd] never... not in a million years... [he] isn't and never will be!...Right?, he kept thinking to himself.

And yet... another guess; simple curiosity, perchance? If so, then he must be very, very, very curious. Then yet again, what level of curiosity is the kind that can lead to stripping someone in their sleep? Uhh, perverse curiosity? No..., he denied, once again.

That's ridiculous.

Oh, was it? Was he sure?

And the thief's breathing was getting heavier. He was sweating profusely and he can't find a way to cool down. And it's definitely not the heat. So many thoughts... So many images... So many questions... He could just scream. He was already panting but he kept it as silent as possible. The flies on his head have multiplied. His heart was racing so fast inside of him that its finish line would be to jump out of his chest. He held on to himself and there was so much pain. Good pain. It doesn't hurt but it was good and quite ecstatic.

He went back to where he stopped which was taking half off of Tack's shirt. His shoulder was as exposed as ever and he not even noticing it, the cobbler's skin was tanner than ever. Maybe he did but decided to get over with that, quickly. Now if he could just take out the whole arm...

Slowly... slowly... What a fine arm! The thief felt more breath coming out of his chest. No more doubts, he was going to go through this. He decided to quickly get the other arm out of the cobbler's shirt. Now there were two fine arms. And now, he just had to see every inch of him. Please, do not awake. He can't take it anymore and he needed to overcome this. Blood was rushing to his sickly looking skin. His arms stretched and his hands attempted to get a hold of the now misplaced clothing of the cobbler. Tack's pants were torn and that made it much easier.

There was more to see and he knew it. Those legs, those arms, that chest, and the fine sleeping face, smiling with the tacks in his mouth that seemed to complete it. A strange but adorable sight it was. But he did not mind if the cobbler's eyes are closed and not knowing what their color could be or how big they are for what mattered the most was everything of him. He will do it!

This is it!

The moment he had been dying to- But then...the thief seemed to have frozen. His hands were close to the cobbler's pants but he suddenly felt his nerves stopped from working. What sorcery was this? His mouth remained open and he could not close them. In fact, everything seemed to have paralyzed to this position, except for his eyes. They moved back and forth. What...the...hell!?

Oh no, the thief is starting to lose balance. The aforementioned pain still transpiring, he still felt the sore on his knees and just fell face forward to the sleeping cobbler. Adding insult to injury, at least literally, his still outward hands have hit the tacks that were in his mouth. With one push, the thief woke up.

Tack felt a stinging pain in his mouth. As the thief had fallen, he accidentally pushed the tacks into his mouth which might have pierced some gums. Tack got up from his lying position and he checked his mouth with his finger. Blood dropped from the corner of his lips. He spat out the one bloody tack along with a few amount of tainted sputum. As soon as making clear of that, he saw the thief whose face was dug in his crotch. And his pants were torn!

Tack was staggered and his eyes were at him.

The thief was terrified and his own eyes were at him. They are blue..., he thought as he stared at the cobbler.

Tack had no idea what was happening. He was almost undressed to the waist down. His suspenders only kept it from completely falling off. No wonder he felt a draft. And then there was this; the thief under his nose. It's obvious that he had something to do with this. In fact, he had everything to do with it. And that was when his eyebrows started to furrow.

What will he do?

The thief, still terrified, started to tremble. He was now seeing two steely blue eyes staring down at him with a crossed expression. He could beg for mercy but he was not completely out of his pain yet. He could see the cobbler, proud and tall above his face. He was tougher than he looked. Now awake, he did not need to prove that much more clearly. It's also clear that he won't be able to fully disrobe the cobbler anymore, so he tried to reach for his hat. The look of his full head of hair would be a good last thing to see.

Too bad it was cut short when Tack decided to spit the one tack on his mouth into the thief's eye and all at once, everything looked red...

!

The thief emerged from his sleep with a loud but still not as audible, breathy squeal. Sweat was all over and flies swarmed around him. He was breathing very heavily as his heart raced. He sensed a wet feeling between his- I think we can all figure that out. In short, he felt the same way he felt in the dream he recently had.

And a great idea has popped into his head. He had completely remembered still about stealing something that can never be obtained ever again. He owed something to his vision of the cobbler in his head. He saw such innocence. The cobbler had a petite look but he showed that it was not so. That, to the thief, was worth taking away for. The sheer innocence and purity of what he had, he will be there to destroy it. And if it weren't for that annoying tan mime, the golden balls would've been his even if hit was for no reason at all besides him being a thief.

Without a second thought, he rushed out of his cell and ascended the stairs where he would eventually figure out where the living room of the palace. He broke into the place so much in the past that he would've had the whole platform memorized. He ran as fast as he could to the targeted location.

Tack was in a room, decorating the walls with curtains and curtains of fabric with beautiful colors with patterns. With a hammer and some nails (in his mouth this time, rather than his usual shoe tacks), he hung them almost everywhere, completely obscuring the wall, which on itself, was just as patterned as everything else. But it had to be done for it was a special occasion.

"Now don't just hang them like that willy-nilly," the princess's nanny was helping him. "Remember, you are decorating. Don't make this room look like a silk convention," she said.

Tack, as always, responded minimally and gave a subtle nod. Nevertheless, he continued to hammer and nail the curtain's strings to the wall. If he would be able to speak, he'd say that they look fine.

The thief was out of breath. Despite being able to know where to go in such a crazy built palace, the number of stairs doesn't count. They're either much more or less than he remembered. He somehow managed anyway and could hear a familiar voice of the woman he has feared since the banana incident.

He decided to proceed to that place where the voice was coming from to see if the cobbler was there. He heard her talking to someone so it wouldn't hurt to see who it was. Just to make sure.

So after a few steps through the corridors of nonsense, he was near the room where fabric decorations spilled everywhere. What the occasion was, he didn't bother to ask himself. He snuck his face through the overly curtained entrance and he was almost not quite delighted with what he saw.

The only recognizable feature of him was the way he expressed with the knick-knacks on his mouth. He was clad in much more modest clothing and the hat he wore did not make his hair stick out at all. But what saved him from true disappointment was that he saw that the cobbler still had the facade of innocence on him and his were eyes still as blue and not much expression on him. Whether he's technically not a cobbler anymore or still is, nothing would stop him from wanting him to be alone somewhere—preferably, the dungeon-stealing every ounce of his- and revenge.

First, he had to wait for the old lady to disappear. He'd not want to run in to her again.

Moments later, the lady did finally exit and he hid behind a nearby plant, just in case. The hammering sound from the room was a sign that he's still there and now, all alone. An opportunity at hand and it was the time for him to act. The thrill was multiplied and he can feel it again as he made his creeping gaits toward the entrance. This would be better than anything he had stolen. He'd be able to cherish that moment forever and tainting the victim that would be in his grasp. Should he succeed, he'll probably give up thieving once and for all, even if it meant the violation of a pure soul.

"Tack!" a woman's voice said. The thief, upon hearing this, decided to stop for a while. "Oh my, I can't remember what this room used to look like at all!"

It was the Princess YumYum (AN: That name bothers me still) in the room with her husband. That's all there is.

The thief sighed and had to wait again for someone to disappear. He continued anyway to see what was going on. Through the curtained fabrics again, his eyes popped up.

"This will be lovely once she...or he arrives. You are amazing!" she complimented, enclosing him in a lovely embrace.

When will this schmaltz end?

The thief waited impatiently. The hug lasted for an unbelievably long amount of minutes. When they finally let go, what the thief saw on the princess shocked him out of his mind—

She had a swollen belly which she fondled carefully. The curious cobbler-prince did the same and let out a small but deep giggle.

"I love you, Tack."

After removing the nails in his mouth, "And I lo-"

Covering his ears, he ran away from the terrible scene. Once more, as fast as he could, he ran through the halls, down some stairs, up some stairs, wherever direction, north, south, east, and west, until he finally came to the conclusion that he has gotten lost. But he didn't care; he just needed to go as far away from the room as possible and for that, he tripped.

It just cannot be.

It was unacceptable.

He failed way too quickly. He thought that it was to be like he dreamt it would. But alas, he was deceived. The cobbler, which he thought that even if he looked different now, he was still the same naive, handsome, shoe slave, was already a broken love struck fool. It was too unexpected a twist and he's now blaming himself as a fool, too.

Truly disappointed, he felt. Somewhere within the palace's corners, he was sulking. His chest hurt with the aching sensation of bitterness.

He slowly stood up and walked up to the large window he saw. His eyes then looked away into the horizon and a somber gust swept in. Not much emotion on his face but his pupils quivered and were damp from tears.

Then he changed his sights to the ground below.

It was then, the painful truth that he now had to admit, was to commence— It was too late.

He had a good plan going on but it has been wasted. He'll never be able to make something like that again. He was saving his desecrate notions for the cobbler, and for him alone but now, that too has been wasted. Everybody would say that it's easy to do that to everyone else but the thief did not found as such. There was a feeling of exclusive fascination that he felt as if it was new. There are a lot of innocent souls in the world, so would he instead find a new victim?

No. There may be, yes, but there was only one cobbler like Tack. Also, even his despicable self found the alternative sinful. He was a thief but he would never stoop to doing so to souls he had never met nor felt an attraction too. He was not a maniac.

His head looked lower down from the window

[He] was a thief. [And] a very lucky thief, because he had escaped more than once from his crimes in his lifetime. He had a good run and he has a long life to prove it.

He was a thief. Always a thief.

A thief who shall be...nameless...

-Finis-

Thanks. Review, if you must. Time for a longwinded AN: I stumbled upon this movie which I was curious about because of its history and then, things happen. I'm burning this bridge as we cross it. And thus, the fic has spawned. And I kinda lied to myself because I said to a memo that I won't be going back to fanfic-ing unless the finals are over. Now it's subverted because as I write this, the finals ARE over.

Once again, review! :)