I’ve had a good few days to myself dreaming up this next story. I really like to explore different sides of the story spectrum (which is a real thing, it’s really beautiful like a rainbow but with colors that haven’t even been invented yet). So totally opposite to my last one, this is a bit more serious. It starts like this…
There once was a boy named Jack. Jack was a risky boy, pushing his luck for sport. He liked living on the high wire. The rush of his pulse, pounding in his ears and chest; like the drums solders use to stay in rhythm. The light in his eyes every time he took a risk, like a thousand stars flashing in a clear night sky. Jack loved risks.
It was one moist autumn night and Jack was wandering around his street, looking for risks to take. He had run away from making fun of Timothy’s widow. The woman whose husband died right before the birth of his twins, Fate hated her. Jack had been spanked by his step father (Fate hated him too), but Jack sneered at his stepfather as well, making fun of his stepfather’s luck. The day after Jack’s mother’s second wedding, she was mugged and cut down right in front of Jack. That was the only day in his life that Jack had been confused; why would someone kill something so good, so full of light? Jack had gotten his answer soon enough: it was because it didn’t make a difference whether Jack’s mother died or lived, but it was better to shut up your victim permanently. Jack often made fun of his own luck, laughing at Fate for hating him when he did nothing wrong. Jack laughed at people who were wrong. Like his stepfather, Jack often laughed at him because he had made the wrong decision by marrying Jack’s mother setting himself up for depression and anger. Jack made fun of depression and anger. Now Jack, Jack is a cunning boy, he can make you do all the work in the world, and enjoy it too. He just has that effect on people. His looks don’t hinder his progress either.
Jack has messy brown hair, the shade of wood in the springtime. His eyes are blue and calculating, as if he is sizing you up for a big scale project. He has a knowing smile, like you are where he wants you to be. And when he wants, Jack can speak so sweet, as if his lips are dripping honey. When Jack wants to make you hurt, he can speak so sharp, as if his words have sprouted thorns. Jack knows how everyone should feel.
The moist autumn day that Jack had been wandering in began to be dryer. When Jack looked up he saw the strangest thing. A fire, not that he hadn’t seen other fires before; Jack had seen plenty of fires for cooking and warming. But never one like this. This fire was being swung around by some man on the street, he had his cap down and people were putting money in it. This man who was swinging around fire must be hated by Fate as well. Jack bent down as if to put money down into the cap, but pocketed some instead. He took a closer look at the fire. It seemed to be hanging by string, but the string wasn’t catching fire at all. The man swung the fire and made it move in circles, like an infinite ring. Jack’s eyes widened. He wanted to do that. Jack wanted to make something infinite, something perpetual. Jack had thought his mother was perpetual, till she died. Jack wanted something permanent now, something to stand on, because Jack had nothing.
On Jack’s way home, he was thinking of ways to replicate the fire like the man on the street. Jack opened the big wooden door to his small wooden house. The smell of beer was thick and made Jack’s eyes water, his stepfather had been drinking again. He grabbed some string and made it wet so that it wouldn’t catch on fire. Then he got some rags soaked them in alcohol, so that they would burn better. Before Jack set it on fire, he thought about what his mother always said about it. She said never to play with fire, but then again, this was a risk.
“Fire,” Jack thought to himself. “Too much, you’re dead. Not enough, you’re dead. It’s a kill-kill situation.” And with that thought, Jack bravely lit the rags.
All at once the rags caught on fire, and blood started pounding in Jack’s ears and chest, his eyes shone like shining stars. Jack set about making the circles but they were harder than he thought, so Jack just swung the fire and tried to make it look good. All at once the wet string slipped out of his fingers and hit his wooden wall. The wall burst into flames. Then out of panic, he let the other string go and it hit the other wall.
The smoke tied itself up in Jack’s throat and he couldn’t breathe. Jack’s lungs were on fire. The fire made it hard to see and Jack’s eyes were burning, he couldn’t keep them open. He felt a searing sensation and realized that his whole shirt was on fire, he quickly ripped it off. Pretty soon he had no protection from the fire. The walls of flames were descending around him and he couldn’t understand anything, Jack wanted to scream but his throat was sealed shut by the smoke. At some point Jack had been completely overwhelmed in flame. He didn’t feel the pain anymore; he was just waiting for the fire to end. Then he felt it a pleasant cooling sensation, like a cold glass of water. This feeling was surrounding something, or someone. As it drifted closer, Jack saw that it was his mother. She was waiting for him, her hand outstretched, inviting him. He took her hand and what felt like a cool breeze greeted him. Jack followed his mother into endless light…
Well I guess that, that’s all for now…Keep dreaming!