Short Stories

Jawbreaker

You walk into a candy store. Jawbreakers, Dubble Bubble, Lollipops and Gumdrops. Warheads, Crybabies and Toxic Waste. Jolly Rancers and Starbursts. All of your favourite candies sitting on a shelf. You grab one Jawbreaker and go up to the counter. The man behind the register says it will cost you.

But what will it cost you? 25 cents? 50 cents? A dollar? You don't have any more than 25 cents so you're worried. Your thoughts travel. What will it cost me? My life, my house, My 5 year old son? The one you're failing to support. It's his birthday today. All you wanted to do was get him a Jawbreaker. His favourite.

You tell the man you have nothing but a quarter. He tells you that it costs more than a quarter. You try to tell him your situation. But, he kicks you out. He tells you never to come back. So you give up. You go home, to your cold, hungry, 5 year old son.

He's sitting at the table, asking what you got him. You tell him nothing. You yell at him. You tell him to go to bed, and not come out until morning. You reach in the fridge, and pull out a case of beer. You consume one. You consume two. An hour later you've consumed the entire twelve bottles.

You hit him. Tell him he's worthless. He's forming bruises. But, you're letting the alcohol take over. He's crying. He's pleading. But you don't want to stop. He's bloody and bruised. He's eventually fallen unconscious. But you continue to hit his limp body. His body that's barely breathing. Once all of your rage is gone, he's gone.

You throw his body aside, fed up with the world, and sleep. All the while, your conscious is yelling at you and crying. Telling you to stop. You don't listen. But after all, you never listen. Usually, you only go as far as beating the boy to a bloody pulp. But this time, you beat him to death.

On his fifth birthday too. He'll never get to experience a girlfriend, a job, school, kids of his own. But.. would he ever want to? Would he really have made it past 13 with an abusive, alcoholic father? Would he want a child of his own? He wouldn't. He would fear of turning out like his old man. But, you never gave him a chance.

When you wake up, all of the memories flood back. You hold your sons limp body in your arms and you cry. All you think about is what you could've done differently. If you would've went back in time, how you would've done things differently. You're laying there crying, your dead son in your arms and thinking.

You walk into the same candy store. Jawbreakers, Dubble Bubble, Lollipops and Gumdrops. Warheads, Crybabies and Toxic Waste. Jolly Ranchers and Starbursts. All of your sons favourite candies sitting on a shelf. You grab one Jawbreaker and go up to the counter. The man behind the register says it will cost you.

But what will it cost you? 25 cents? 50 cents? A dollar? You don't have any more than 25 cents so you're worried. Your thoughts travel. What will it cost me? My life, my house, my 5 year old son? The one I'm failing to support. It's his birthday today. All you wanted to do was get him a Jawbreaker. His favourite.

You tell the man you have nothing but a quarter. He tells you it costs more than a quarter. You try to tell him your situation. But, he kick you out. He tells you never to come back. This seems all too familiar to you. You begin to walk home but you turn around.

You march in the candy store and you demand that Jawbreaker. The man calls security. But you demand the manager. The manager comes out. You tell him. You tell him how it's his birthday and how he really wants a Jawbreaker but you only have 25 cents. He feels bad. He gives you a Jawbreaker. You try to give him a quarter but he makes you keep it.

You reurn home, with your pride still intact. You go home, to your cold, hungry, 5 year old son. You hope this will make his birthday at least somewhat decent. He's sitting at the table, asking what you got hijm. You reach into the paper bag, and pull out a Jawbreaker. He cups his hands, and you drop it in it. He smiles. First the first time in a while, he smiles.

But then, you snap back to reality. Your dead son is in your hands, and theres a rifle in the corner. You kept it there to protect your son, although, all you ever did was hurt him. You pray, for the first time since you were a child. You pray for frogivness, but you knwo you will never be forgiven.

You load the rifle, and bring it to your head. You pull the trigger. Bloaw. You're dead. You're in a dark room, but then a dim light turns on and you see your son. You think you must've been forgiven. You go towards your son for a hug, but then he looks at you. You know he's not your son. But whoever this is, portraying your son, he beats you. For a long eternity. He will never stop. All because you couldn't buy him a Jawbreaker.