Tracks

Jacks and Joseph

Content warning for physical and emotional abuse, profanity, animal and character death, and depictions of blood and injuries.

---

A train whistle sets off into the morning air, accompanying early birds, and the flick of a cigarette lighter. A young boy stirs beneath thin bedsheets, opening his eyes just barely to process the subtle blue of the sky that bleeds into the room. He sits up, rubbing his face, and immediately straightens his back to determine his current degree of safety. He listens, unsure of what lies in store if he is to go down the stairs.

Most mornings, sobs would wake him. If not sobbing, then anger. Her footsteps, unrestrained by any sort of emotional self control, would shake the entire foundation of the house. If, by some miracle, neither of these things were the reason for his waking— he'd travel slowly down the stairs, and cautiously start a conversation. If he didn't, she'd become upset.

"Sweetie, come here! Mama wants a cuddle!" A shrill voice echoes through the halls, grating at the boy's ears. At least she's happy, for once. At least she's in a good mood. He knows to be careful not to bring about any reason for it all to go south.

The boy throws on a shirt and hops down the stairs, drawing nearer, hiding a wince as her arms wrap around him. She stinks of booze, smoke and sweat, and her hair is a mess, getting into his mouth. Shouldn't this be comforting? Joseph's mother's hugs felt nothing like this.

Joseph. If all went well, they'd play together later.

"I've got church later, Mama. I wanted to tell you before I went out." The boy speaks, breaking the hug.

His mother's expression drops, and her eyes darken. He'd done it. It went south.

"What, so you can see that boy again?" She flicks the ash from her cigarette, picking it back up from the ashtray, a photo kept face down beneath it. She takes in a deep draw, the orange glow of the end of it reflecting in the boy's tearful eyes. "That boy is nothing but trouble, █̴̺̩͗̓̅█̸͍́̒͝█̷̢̡̨͌̅█̸̢͐█̶͙̲̔̑̊ ."

He feels his throat close at the sound of his name. He didn't mind the mention of his friend, as he knew her words about him were hardly ever true. But his name made him sick. He chose to instead, with Joseph— to use the name of their favorite game, one he'd play with his best friend for hours upon hours nearly every time they spent the day together.

Jacks.

His mother was none the wiser. The boy kept it far away from her, lest she spoil it, too. And there is safety, in that.

"But he always gets good marks, Mama. He helps me study for school." Jacks tries to defend his friend, but is met with a loud, sharp inhale and another call of the name that makes his throat close and his face burn. He cowers to the floor before running to the back of the house, up the stairs before her nails can catch hold of him.

"Go to church, then!" She snaps through her teeth, "Leave your poor mother here alone and pray she won't die before you get back, you selfish brat!"

Jacks uses all of his strength to push a set of drawers against his bedroom door, covering his ears as his mother screams at him from the room below.

"God doesn't love you, █̵̻̖̐̐͝█̴̦̠̮͌͋͑̉̈́͌͜█̵̘̄͐̾͂█̵̢̳̱̹̟̜̊̾̈́̅̈́́█̴̧̂̓̾, but I do! He abandoned us both, just like your father— don't you see that?!" She yells as those familiar heavy footsteps start to shake the house as she makes her way to the foot of the stairs, Jacks trying his best to breathe through his pounding chest, his heart in his ears. He doesn't respond.