Oliver's Twisting Tale

By Owen

That night, the poor destitute orphan cried himself to sleep tossing and turning. He dreamed about being driven to the crowd and the hustle and bustle of London market town, he noticed a rope hanging from a tall wooden pole that was waiting to be affixed to his small,skinny neck made from nothing but blood and bone. Suddenly, Oliver woke up with a cold sweat, like most nights Oliver could feel The uncomfortable sharp edges of the metal springs provided by The mean, ungrateful consolation of Mr Bumbles care; for the rest of the night Oliver couldn't sleep a wink.

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The next morning, the Beadle came storming in like a bull who had just had a face full of red,"YOUR GETTING CHANGED ARN'T YOU!"Raged the Beadle.
"Um,"but before Oliver could answer Mr Bumble had stormed out of the room. Later that evening, Oliver had an escape plan forming in his mind; he would dig a minuscule amount of dirt under the rusty, old gate every night. Eventually, it would form a small hole. The superintendence of these events were risky especially with workhouse staff patrolling the grounds.

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Two weeks in the small, dirty hole was big enough for his small, skinny body to fit through, though still creating thousands and thousands of germs. It was nine o'clock at night giving his attempted escape a high chance of failure. Oliver was finally free,although he had no shelter and food he had never felt happier, despite his small amount of magnanimous behaviour, Mr Bumble couldn't care less about Olivers disappearance. The day passed quickly which Oliver spent productively things like emptying trash cans to scavenge the scraps, collecting unwanted newspapers and settling in a dark, dank corner in a dirty, mysterious avenue of London town.That night two dodgy, mysterious figures crept up while Oliver was sleeping, they were carrying an old, baggy Corn sack round their shoulders which they filled with a small ,skinny orphan and took them to an unidentified area of London...

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"QUIET DOWN EVERYONE!"shouted the man in the high chair,"The debate will begin shortly". The courtroom was in full swing with remonstrance from all corners, making the room full of chaos."SETTLE DOWN,settle down,"The man in the white waistcoat, the hall fell silent, "Now then,we are here to discuss the disappearance of orphan number 28159,"explained the man in the high chair which was of course taking the role of court master in this situation."We will now speak to the leader of the East London orphan workhouse, Mr Bumble Over to you," Said the court master.
"Well then," exclaimed the Beadle," Oliver was an ungrateful brat of a boy and when court will go straight to the execution room," boomed Mr Bumble.The room certainly omitted into a and an ear-splitting noise which took a good few minutes to silence was decided that there would be a big search party to find him.

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Meanwhile, Oliver woke up, it was his first proper night sleep in years he heard a strange gruff voice in the background. Where was he?
"I'll go get 'em some grub 'eh Fagin," Said a strange mysterious voice.
"sure thing dodge,"agreed an elderly, gruff voice. Oliver heard footsteps walking away in another direction. Oliver was breathing heavily and tried to stay quiet but although his best efforts to do so he was still noticed, "What's in there Fagin mate."asked the new voice.
"I'll tell yu' later boy" said this Fagin character. Oliver was frightened; he had never spoken to anyone outside the workhouse before, especially with Mr Bumbles security. Loud footsteps came stomping towards him the same graph voice murmured to itself, "Right then how, how do you …" Whoever it was fiddling with this with some old, worn out string, Oliver suddenly saw his first bit of daylight since his first day of freedom."Get out NOW," an old man shouted, he had a long silver bed and a scruffy jacket.

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Oliver had been locked in a dark, dank room, is this domicile country not want to many more? Or was it clear to see that his life is like a rotting apples that was meant to be treated like a mud the back of a shoe? Oliver suddenly heard a lock click and the turn of a rusty door handle. Man who had released informant from the old corn sack walked in and sat down next to him."Alright Oliver," said the man. Started for words but couldn't find any because he was mezmorized by the fact somebody had been nice to him."I'm Cap'in Fagin leader of the LPG stands for London Pickpocket Gang," explained Fagin in a strong cottney accent, He held out her hand,Oliver shook it, it was a warm, wrinkly hand which felt like a ripe prune.

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One year later, Oliver was a master at stealing food from market stalls and putting his dirty, shabby hand into rich ladies and gentlemen's pockets hoping for shillings or precious items like it was a lucky wheel gambling game.

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One morning, Oliver was searching for a nice looking bread and butter stall for his breakfast, he noticed a familiar looking Beadle patrolling the churchyard, who was he? Oliver could have sworn he had seen him before. Oliver rushed over and hid behind a large gravestone. He knew it, it was Mr Bumble the Beadle! Oliver rushed over to another store and started to chucking chestnuts at him. The Beadle turned round and started marching towards Oliver…within no time the coppers (as Oliver like to call them) came storming in his direction. Oliver ran away towards Fagin and his other friend I haven't mentioned The Artful Dodger.

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Meanwhile, the police and Mr Bumble turned to a Sprint, Oliver called to Fagin,
"Fagin, Dodge,The coppers are coming,HELP," warned Oliver, Fagin,The Artful Dodger and the rest of the gang came out of their hideout and ran away with Oliver, they ran for miles until they lost Mr Bumble and the police. They knew they would have to start a new life well outside London.

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