Little Jack sits all alone on the living room floor. At the kitchen table his father snorts drugs, drinking, and cleaning guns with a couple of his friends. They're loud, slurring, and obnoxious.
Jack stares down at the tattered doll in his hand. It was a clown. It had a broken arm and it's makeup was dirty and scuffed. But Jack loved the smile on it's face. Somehow it gave him hope.
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His mother exits the bedroom, eyes dilated with drugs, her purse over her shoulder. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" He father calls out from the table. "Off to meet your rich boyfriend?"
"Like you really give a shit," she huffs as she storms out the door, slamming it shut behind her.
Jack's father hurls a beer at the door, sending flying shards and smelly beer all over the place, including Jack. "Hey you worthless piece of shit, clean up that mess."
"I didn't make it," Jack says under his breath. But it wasn't quiet enough.
"What the fuck did you say to me boy!?" His father screams, flying to his feet. Jack tries to scramble away but his father grabs him by the back of his hair. He slams his son's head into the floor. "You think you can talk back to me?! I'll show you you little son of a bitch!!" And his boot kicks Jack in the ribs.
CRACK
A rib snaps, but Jack doesn't cry out. he just lays there, eyes pressed shut and braced for more. "Come on dude, he's just a kid," one of his friends say from the table.
"Do I tell you how to raise your kids?!" His father points to the man, quickly shutting him up. He then notices the clown doll grasped in Jack's hand. "Fucking sissy, playing with dolls like a little girl?!" His boot heel comes crashing down on the doll, breaking it into unfixable pieces.
Jack watches with tears forming in his eyes. His father destroyed everything he cared about. It was just a doll, but it was a best friend to Jack. Now it was gone, along with all the hope it gave him...
Jason sits up with a gasp, tears rolling down his face. "Baby are ya ok?" Harley is quickly throwing her arms around him. "Was it a bad dream?"
Jason pants, slowly calming down enough to process it, "It wasn't mine," he sweeps a hand through his green hair.
"Whut wasn't yers?" Harley strokes his back.
"It wasn't my dream. It was his...J's," he sighs.
"Oh," is all Harley knows to say. "Wanna tell me 'bout it?"
"No, I'm fine now," he says slithering back down on the mattress lying on the floor. He takes Harley into his arms, "I'm running out of time for the rest of the transformation. "I need it done now."
"Jester could do it," Harley offers.
"He's a brain surgeon, not a plastic surgeon," Jason sighs as his fingers drag softly down Harley's skin.
