Year: 1866. Place: Bonnydoon, New South Wales, Australia
The sound of a primitive cow bell rang through the walls of a small wood cabin, accompanied by a yell. "Kelley! We've got customers in front o' the door!" Inside one of the cabin's rooms, a young raccoon tried hiding his head in a sack pillow, obviously not motivated enough to get out of bed. Much to the irritation of a shopkeeper warthog dressed in an apron. "Up ya get, m'boy! Move it!" Irritated, the raccoon covered his head with the sheet, whilst mumbling. "Go 'way, dad." The warthog pulled away the covers before he tapped the raccoon's shoulder. "It's one hour after opening time, my lad. Now get up!" Reluctantly, the young raccoon got out of bed before yawning, stretching out his arms out wide before folding his ears. The warthog pushed him lightly out of his room. "Rise and shine, Kelly. We have three packages of meat to prepare for Sheriff Ward." Kelley rolled his eyes before walking out with his father.
A short queue had already lined up in front of the counter. One of the customers, a reverend kangaroo with a book in his hand, spoke to the warthog, "Good morning, Yorkie." Yorkie chuckled before replying, "Morning to you too, father. What can a humble butcher do for ye this fine morn?" The kangaroo modestly shook his head. "Please, my son. Only call me father in the church. For now, I am simply here as a customer, not a holy man. Anyhow, I would like half a kilo of venison." Yorkie took the reverend's order before turning to Kelley. "Kelly, do your old pa a favour and go fetch a kilo of venison for the reverend." Kelley sighed before reluctantly obeying his father, just as Yorkie pulled out a medium-sized steak-knife, before beginning to slice the meat thinly. "I don't know what's gotten into the boy lately." The reverend sagely nodded his head. "He is young, Yorkie. They all tend to be…difficult nowadays." Yorkie scoffed at the reverend's claim just as Kelley gave him the requested orders of venison. "Bloody oath that is, Rev. That boy's got tickets on 'imself," he continued, slicing the meat finely with the knife as he grumbled, "And them bloody bushrangers are doing wonders for the tin lids these days." Kelley in the meantime tried minding his own business, taking out his growing frustration on sharpening his father's knives as he heard the queue pipe up one at a time. A middle aged poodle chimed in to the conversation. "I swear, if I hear one more drongo nattering on about those bloody bushrangers, oath or not, I'll go starkers." Another member, a Posh crocodile also commented. "Quite right. It's a crook job. I mean, with all the fuss about the Gold recently, it's bad enough we've got foreigners wandering onto British-owned Colonial soil, but strike me pink if the Redcoats don't get to work using their 'eads. The sooner we get rid of these malcontents, the better." Yorkie packed up the sliced venison before handing both packages to the reverend. "Here you go, rev. Sorry I had to bring up the goss and keep you hung up on the line like a wet mossie," only for the reverend to modestly shake his head. "Do not think of it, Yorkie. God bless the king."
But even after the reverend left, the queue seemed to get bigger, much to Kelley's obvious dismay. All day long it was the same dull old routine. Kelley, M'boy, chop this meat up, since your ol' dad's gone off to the pub. Kelley, pack that meat proper-like. Kelley, deliver this meat to the ol' Rev. Deep inside, Kelley found himself bored by the monotonous cycle that went by. As he worked at the counter, he began to daydream. About what, you might ask? Why, about bushranging. The excitement of defying a law that ordered him to be like everyone else. The thrill of riding an ebony horse to buzz a few posh dags, all the while normal people would be praising him. Kelley the hero. Kelley the brave outlaw, who dared stick it to the redcoats and to the dull old kookaburras who mocked him for dreaming too big instead of just being happy with chopping dull slabs of meat day after tiresome day. Suddenly, Kelley was snapped out of his day-dreamlike state by an impatient customer, a thin stoat from one of the gold mines who stared at him before calling out, "Oi! 'Ead out of the clouds and back to Earth for five minutes, please!" Kelley then breathed a heavy sigh before resuming his daily drudging. Some day, he swore to himself, running the knife through the dull, cold meat laid atop the cutting wood. Some day, indeed.
That night, whilst Kelley was fast asleep, his dreams took him somewhere in the distant past. To a small galleon traversing over the seas. Suddenly, a strangely vague feeling rammed into him like someone gave him a kick to the bladder, that he might've at least remembered this ship. But before he could ask any questions, the ship began violently rocking about, the sound of splintering wood and cries of help making Kelley feel frightened for his life. Feverishly, he tried finding a way overboard, but the doors seemed locked. As he turned around-wham! A locked chest slammed into his chest and out of the quickly sinking ship. The next thing he knew, Kelley found himself hanging for dear life from a portion of a large book. "What the blazes?" Briefly, as the ocean was being enveloped in a bright light, the book began chanting 'Remember, Remember, Remember'. Frightened, Kelley tried climbing onto the driftwood, before asking the book "Remember what?!" Suddenly, his portion of the driftwood began to snap, and as he fell into the endless white abyss, he screamed "What is it I'm supposed to remember?!"
Waking up in a cold sweat, Kelley clasped his paws on his face, trying to ease himself back to reality. "It's only a dream...It's not real..." But suddenly, Kelley found himself turning in his bed, his paws landing on the wooden floor as he felt himself becoming lighter, unable to control himself. Creeping through the cabin, Kelley found himself powerless to resist his dream's influence, his paws gravitating in front of him as he crept up to his father's room. Powerless, he tried resisting the urge, biting into his tail furiously as he felt his paws quietly opening the door. The young raccoon suddenly felt himself ducking from his father's view, crawling on the floor as he heard his father snoring. Upon stopping, the young raccoon's eyes gravitated towards a dull blue block on his father's top shelf. Creeping to the top, Kelley grabbed the object and felt himself instinctively slipping through the window.
Stopping his pace fairly short of the stables, Kelley looked towards the stolen item in his paws. Light from a thunderstorm helped lit the cover to the world. The Theivius Raccoonus. At this point, Kelley didn't know what to do; the Theivius Raccoonus, in his possession. He didn't know how he got it, or why his father had it, let alone why his body manipulated him into stealing it. Suddenly, he heard shouts from the villagers in the town, one of them firing into the air. His attention drawn, Kelley heard one of them call 'Stop! Thief!'. He had to get away. Yes, he thought to himself, far away! Instinctively, he rushed towards the nearest horse and hijacked it, riding it out of town. As the sound of the horse galloping drowned out the sounds of several villagers in the distance, Kelley thought to himself, 'I'm an outlaw now. A thief.' But slowly, the reality of his words dawned on him, and he began laughing as his horse galloped into the night. "Bonza! I'm free! No more sermons! No more packing or chopping meat! You hear me, world?! I'm a bushranger, now! And I am alive! Ha ha!" The crescent moon became clouded, the dark clouds distorting the moon's shape into a crooked cane.