Nancy and Oliver ran through the dark streets in the thick, gloomy darkness of London. As the hour grew later and their fear grew thicker, Oliver could only just keep up with the long, thin, hurried legs of Miss Nancy, who constantly stopped briefly, turn around and place her arm around Oliver to urge him along on several occasions.

Along the cobbled streets and alleyways, they ran. Oliver clutched Nancy’s hand tightly, for it was constantly slipping out of hers due to the amount of sweat that had built up between their palms.

“Hurry, Oliver, hurry!” whispered Nancy, urgently, and continued to hurry along with great pace and speed.

“Please, dear Miss Nancy”, questioned Oliver as calmly as possible without losing his breath whilst jogging, “please, where are we going?”

“You will soon find out”, said Nancy, again with desperation, urgency and fear in her voice. “I will not let you stay here. But hush! Be quick now!” she said, and spoke no more, still urging little Oliver on.

Oliver looked up at her face as they ran. He saw her eyes, wide and round, almost bursting with urgency, and he saw the sweat slowly appearing at her temples. He saw her thin, scarlet lips breathe in the cold air around them, a swift, terrified hissing gasp followed only by a quick release of what air she had to spare.

“Why are you so afraid?” Oliver asked innocently. At first, Nancy did not reply, and pretended that she hadn’t heard. Still she walked on, putting a jog into her step whenever possible.

“Why are you so afraid?” Oliver asked again, “What have you to be afraid of?”

“My dear boy”, she said, not out of sympathy or pity, but of desperation for Oliver to be quiet so they would not be heard. “Oliver, you must not worry about me at a time like this. I am not important to you now. You must forget that you ever knew me. Now hush!”

Up and down creaky wooden stairs, across dodgy bridges spanning stagnant, murky pools, through cold, dirty puddles and under large, stone bridges, on and on and on, they ran through the night. Oliver thought they would be running forever, but finally, Nancy stopped him and turned him round.

He saw a large stone bridge, illuminated not by the street lamps – they were not lit – but by the moonlight from the glorious moon, which was huge, white and full, like a clean saucer on a deep blue and purple blanket that coated and covered the entirety of the sky and of the planet. Oliver also saw several men walking slowly across the bridge. One man with a top hat and a long, slender cane was waiting with a stopwatch in his hand by one of the lamp-posts. Oliver recognised him almost instantly. He was about to say to Nancy that he recognised him as Mr. Brownlow, but Nancy swiftly put her soft hand over his tiny, little lips before he had the chance even to inhale a breath.

“Go to him”, she said, with a small smile on her face.

Oliver ran a few steps forward up the slope towards the bridge. But his conscience pulled him back. He turned around and flung himself into Nancy’s arms. Nancy, relieved that Oliver was now within only a few feet of his freedom, held him tightly, to say one more silent goodbye.

The moment she released him, Sikes grabbed her arms tightly from behind and dragged her backwards towards him. She screamed in shock as sudden pain shot through her arms. Oliver, after running a few more steps towards the shining light of freedom, which took the form of a man in a top hat, spun round and stared, mouth open, at the sight of the two struggling people before him.

Sikes dragged Nancy backwards, and she threw herself forwards and side to side in an attempt to break herself free. With clenched teeth and clenched fists, they thrust and threw themselves about.

“Come ‘ere, you little she devil!” growled the Demon.

“No!” screamed the innocent angel, cursed by her guilty heart and the red dress which she used in her life of sin.

Sikes dragged her, literally kicking and screaming, until he could drag no more. He then turned her round and threw her sharply into the stone wall. She hit it face first and then fell to the floor.

“No!” screamed Oliver, almost ready to cry at the sight of such horror.

Nancy scrambled herself to her feet and ran to the wall. She placed her head over the wall, and gripping the edges as her demented lover came ever closer, screamed “Go! Oliver, Go!”

Oliver, in his state of shock, had no idea what to do or where to turn. Stay and help Nancy, or run to my freedom and leave Nancy to her … to her fate? To her death?

Sikes came up behind her with a face so twisted, so wicked and so terrible, he looked like a ravenous wolf, emerging ever closer to its prey, a bloodthirsty taste in its mouth. He raised his arm and viciously struck the back of her head hard with the butt of his gun. Nancy disappeared from the wall. Oliver saw Sikes’ arm rise and fall again, like a workman hammering a pole into the ground.

“NO!” screamed Oliver, and ran towards where Nancy now lay. He saw her, her legs twitching, the blood pouring from her head and pooling around her face on the floor, her eyes wide and white, her face and hands pale, her mouth open, breathing slowly and sharply.

Oliver and Nancy’s eyes briefly met, then Oliver turned to Sikes.

“You’re trying to kill her!” he screamed. “You’re going to kill her!”

Sikes grabbed him by the shoulders and thrust against the wall. He put the gun to Oliver’s throat …

“NO Bill!” screamed Nancy, with what energy she had left. She was now on her knees, and was moving slowly and unsteadily towards her lover. She gripped his shirt for support. She looked up at him, and he stared down at her with his vicious, furious and glaring eyes.

“Bill …” she said innocently, “Bill … he’s innocent … let the boy go … he’s done no wrong … he’s done no wrong …”

She was gasping for air, and the blood from her head made it almost impossible for her to see.

“You keep quiet, you little drab!” said Sikes, menacingly, “Everything you said was heard. You deserve to die!”

“Then let me die and let him live!” cried Nancy. “Please, Bill, I’m begging you, I’m on my knees, let the boy live. Let him go!”

“I will not be told what to do by a traitorous little hoar like you!” said Sikes, shouting and screaming at the top of his voice. “You and your guilty soul will pay for what you’ve done this night!”

“NO!!” screamed Oliver.

The bang echoed throughout the streets of London. Nancy’s eyes and mouth were as wide as each other, and as the blood began to coat the inside of her lips, she fell backwards and hit the floor, limp and completely lifeless. Sikes remained absolutely still, the arm tense, his hand fixed, the gun still pointing down at Nancy. His breathing was heavy and deep as the smoke from the gun began to waft away into the atmosphere. He slowly turned his head, eyes wide and teeth clenched, towards the face of the terrified Oliver Twist.

The young boy stood there, frozen stiff against the wall, mouth open in total and complete shock, staring at the terrifying figure that was now glaring back at him.

“Don’t you dare move”, Sikes spat through gritted teeth.

However, Oliver knew that he could not stay there. He had to run to the safety of Mr. Brownlow, he had to go; he had to leave this terrible place. He turned and fled. He ran faster and swifter than ever before. He ran up the slope, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him, his heart and soul set on Mr. Brownlow.

Sikes was now more furious than any man has ever been in his entire life. He was almost no longer human; he had no feeling, no care, no guilt, no regret, no fear, no pain. His skin was burning red, his veins pulsing, his blood racing. He paced round and lifted the gun, aiming at the head of the young child now fleeing from him.

“You brought this onto yourself!” he screamed. “You brought this upon yourself!!”

Oliver ran and ran and ran. Then he fell. He tried to start running again, but realised he could no longer breathe. Everything around him had gone silent, everything inside him had gone numb. He felt something had entered his chest through his back, and he felt another shot enter the base of his neck. He tried to run, but found he could only crawl. He looked down and saw his white shirt being flooded from the inside-out with deep red liquid. It was only then that he realised what had happened. His poor heart, so innocent, so pure and so young, though it felt to little Oliver like it had frozen, began to panic and strain.

The young boy’s body vibrated and shook as tons of tiny metal pellets flew through the air and struck sharply into his flesh. Oliver felt no pain. Oliver felt nothing now. He fell on his face, breathing in what air he could against the cold, wet cobble stones.

He tried to figure out what was happening around him. He heard the heavy boots of Bill Sikes run in the opposite direction, so Oliver presumed he had turned and fled. He then heard the faint sounds of a gentle and out-of-breath male voice running towards him. He found himself pushed over onto his back. He looked up into the sky, into the peaceful, starry, moonlit sky, and saw the large, worried face of Mr. Brownlow looking down on him.

“My dear boy!” he said in a worried tone. “I heard the gun shots, and …”

He stopped as he saw the blood coating most of Oliver and his clothing.

“Oh dear God …” said Mr. Brownlow. “Oh my … my dear boy …”

He touched the side of the young boy’s face, who instantly started coughing and suffocating, as the enormous amount of blood now entering his mouth and lungs began to cut off his air supply. He began to shake and cough more violently.

“My dear boy …” said Mr. Brownlow again, not sure of what else to say in this terrible situation, “I’m so sorry …”

He stood up and lifted his cane. Oliver thought he was going to be left alone, but then suddenly, as he looked up into the stars, he saw the face of his mother looking back at him. His mother, the woman who brought him into this wretched life, the woman who he had never seen or known, the woman he loved and wanted to see the most, was now with him at last in his final moments.

He heard a soft, calm, feminine voice in his head.

“Come home, Oliver. Come back to me”.

Oliver smiled. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, he smiled and was perfectly happy with the world. He felt a sharp smack of metal on the side of his head and breathed his last, slipping away from reality forever. Mr. Brownlow, holding a tear or two back, placed his cane back on the floor and watched, in sadness, as the peaceful boy fell asleep at last in the twilight, then walked away, having finally ended the life, the long, painful, miserable and tortured life of the young and beautiful boy called Oliver Twist.