So a day or two a go when I posted Stolen Identity I got some great constructive feedback, which I hope I get again. Taking EVERYONE and what they commented into account I have done a 2nd draft. This is only the first half of the chapter the other half will come soon. To be honest barely any of it this same, I mean barely any. But I gather that often happens from your first draft. Also as my character is an orphan I have changed his name to Jake from Dhylan. Hope you enjoy it, please like and comment. Thanks
He stood on the edge of the market, almost appearing to vanish into the shadows cast over him by the city walls .Nobody even noticed him anymore;he had almost become part of the scenery. Slowly, as to not draw attention to himself, he began to move forwards ,purposefully towards the bakers stall . He had timed it perfectly ;the baker, who was occupied in a feeble attempt to con a customer of his money, didn’t even notice the stranger advancing towards his stall. As he neared the stall the smell of fresh baked bread flooded into his nostrils. Longing filled him. He puased roughly five metres from the stall;he ran through his escape in his head, get the bread , head to the entrance, turn left , sprint through the streets, and then eat. Eat it all. As he pretended to search for coins in his pocket he locked onto his target , a loaf towards the front of the stand to the right of the baker. To any onlooker it looked as if he had found the coins as he removed a hand from his pocket. Then in a sudden burst of speed he surged forwards closing the distance in mere seconds. The baker realised far too late what was happening and desperately lashed out at the thief’s wrist with a gnarled, pale hand. In an attempt to free himself from the man’s iron grip the thief slammed the table over and sent it flying into the baker. Reeling, the baker dropped to the dirt howling curses. The thief twisted on his right foot and dashed forwards through the unfolding carnage. Happiness and freedom surged through him.If your stall was robbed in the market that was your problem, nobody tried to help you, that was his power play, that was how he was as good as gone. Suddenly, a coarse hand grabbed his ragged shirt, stopping him from running any further. As he twisted round to confront his attacker the distinctive smell of sea air wafted over him: nobody tries to help,he thought, nobody except sailors. As the realization dawned on him he was fueled by desperation, one hand still tightly clutching the bread he struck out dragging his finger nails right down the sailors hand, blood spurting as the sailor screamed in pain. The man’s grip went limp and the thief pushed his hand away. Still holding the bread he was about to run when the sailor’s fist slammed into his stomach ; with a dramatic ‘whooshing’ sound the air was punched out of his chest. He let out a gasp of pain as he crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain as he clutched his stomache. His voice cracked as a desperated sob passed his lips. Almost as quickly as the pain had come it ended. Slowly he opened his eyes’ to the sight of a muscled sailor, with a limp hand by his side and rage burning in his eyes.