I can't very well remember life before Fagin. It's a lot like the way Oliver came to be with us, I'm sure. I vaguely remember a parrish; I remember my parents either didn't want me or died. I do clearly remember running away. I came to London and was found by the elderly chap, Fagin. Strange old man. A bit touched in the head. He asked me if "A lively young'un such as myself would spend a bit of time with a lonely old man". Having nowhere else to stay, and having been offered food and lodgings, I three-quarter's heartedly agreed. Let's face it. Spending time with Fagin ain't number one on no one's list. Poor wretch.
If I remember nothing else straight, I clearly remember my first wallet. Fagin informed me that he wouldn't ever do too much of this as it was not his main line of work. That's what he said to me. It took several minutes, but after a while he pulled a wipe out of someone's pocket and handed it to me. Wipe being a hand-ker-chief to you more educated folk. I was perfectly amazed and was instantly eager to learn the trade. Sure, Fagin wasn't exactly what you may call a criminal mastermind, but it was the smoothest thing I'd seen since that boy stole a whole loaf of bread from the parrish. Only Fagin got away with it. The criminal mastermind of my new friends was Mr. Bill Sykes. The man was a genious.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I learned through trial, error and The Game how to perfect the art of pickin' pockets. I had my share of take offs...when I was caught at first (the few times I was) I usually dropped whatever it was I had attempted to steal and got away as fast as I could. It was certainly a good way to learn how to run quickly. As soon as I brought back enough wallets, wipes and other odds and ends (a few things the old'un was particularly proud of...the pocket watch on the pearl strand...yes that one lit his eyes up), Fagin sent me out. The first few nights I returned empty handed. But then I found him. Charley Bates, my best mate. I taught him all I had found out about the art. I even took him into the streets for a proper demonstration. He came to be almost as good as I am. Slowly, little by little, we collected more and more others. Barney Clark was the third. There were quite a few of us. We became a company of thieves. And quite a reputable one, mind you.
Well, back to Bill Sykes. He had a girlfriend of sorts. The lived together, Nancy and him. Nancy was a good friend. She was very nice. She and her friend Bet used to come and have a drink, play cards with us. By now I was 14, feeling quite grown. I modeled myself after Bill. I knew how far I'd get that way. Fagin always told me these fanciful tales of retiring to a lovely old place, maybe even somewhere in Pentonville. So I worked hard, I worked efficiently, acquiring my nickname. Then came Oliver. I don't think he'll ever know just how much he bludgered up everything I'd ever come to know, to love.
And to think I was the one that brought him into our lives. Perhaps I'm partially at fault for what happened to Bill...to Nancy, to Fagin. I thought he'd make an excellent addition. So I brought him back to Spittlefields. When it comes down to it, Oliver ain't too bad. Just...very green and very given to peaching. Anyways, we tried to teach Oliver. To educate him, enlighten him as to the ways of the street. But he was caught as Charley an' me was tryin to pick some old'un's wipe. The old'un, "Mr. Brownlow" as we found out he was, took Oliver in. Fagin and Bill were afraid he'd blow on us, that he'd give us away. So Bill and Nancy kidnapped him. Oliver tried to run away, call the police, but we caught him again. And then Bill decided to use Oliver to break into old man Brownlow's house. Of course Oliver gave them away, Bill shot him in the arm and as the brought Oliver back, Bill fell into the river.
After that...I don't know what happened. The only way I found out was through word on the street and what knowledge I had beforehand. I...I really hate to admit this, it's not really very...nice to have to say, at least for me. I was caught. Stealing some old man's snuff. They put me away for life. Life in that...cage. But I knew that they could never in a million years keep me in there. I escaped the same way I went about most other things. Using man's lack of observation. I can tell you...no, I can't exactly. I don't think I'll ever be able to put into words how much I don't want to go back. I'd rather...shove both shoes down my throat whole. I'd rather be trampled by a stampede of elephants. I'd rather die.
I fully expected to return to what I'd left behind, almost precisely as I left it. It was quite foolish of me of course. When I did return, the place was abandoned. I found that Nancy had been murdered by Bill. Bill had accidentally hung himself trying to escape the traps with Oliver. Fagin was scragged. Oliver went off to live with Mr. Brownlow. God knows what happened to Bet. And Charley...listen to this, Charley went to live on a farm. I'm so disappointed in you, mate.
I never heard anything of Barney or the other boys.
At first, I couldn't figure out what to do with myself. I couldn't stay at Spittlefields, that's the first place the traps would look for me. I stayed most nights under a staircase a mile or so away from the old place. A street lined with drunks and addicts. Not too unlike Spittlefields. It was just different...now that I was among them.
I thought that was the end.
And this is the story of how I was proved wrong.
My name is Jack Dawkins. I am a thief, I am a fugitive.
I am the Artful Dodger.

Well!! This is the five-millionth time that I've put this up and taken it down because I've noticed something wrong with it.
This is not how it's going to be happening with the actual fanfic. Right now I'm pledging to revise and edit to perfection...well, at least close enough, before I put it up. Right now, I have basically the entire storyline plotted out...which is seriously something to mention, and all I have to do now is write it out in a good detailed form.
However!!! My last report card has betrayed me, and I won't be able to get online very much for lord knows how long. But, on the bright side, now I can work on my story!! Yay!! Kind of...uh...well, close enough.
When I was looking for Oliver fics, I honestly didn't expect to find any. Of course, I was wrong. There are lots of really really good ones out there that I can't even hope to better (especially some of those Zadr fics...man, you look for Rilzit and Brb Suicide...it's like...orgasmic. But it's not trashy. It's just...really hot. Even if that has NOTHING at all to do with Oliver Twist...I was thinking about writing some Zadr though...), so I won't even try. But I am hoping to at least be considered readable, dare I even shoot for enjoyable? Yes...I think you might enjoy this. Stick around, I think it'll be worth it. I'll do my best not to let you down.

Signing off,

pb