Creative Writing

Moving On

The loud clattering of young boys getting changed and wrestling in the locker room drowned out the groaning of trees in the gale outside. Andrew sat already changed in his soccer gear, messing around on his phone and hoping that training would be cancelled when Jonathan walked through the door, his sport bag hanging limply by his side, and wincing at the heaviness of his school bag upon his back.

"Hey Jonathan, you know you can leave your bag in your locker, right?" One of the boys yelled over the din, a miniscule boy that didn't know when to quit pestering someone even when that person's fist was raised in front of his face.

Jonathan slumped over to Andrew, dropped his bags and lifted off his school shirt. Andrew was taken aback; Jonathan always got changed in the bathroom rather than the open locker room. An intense silence fell upon the room as all eyes fell upon the bruises and scars splattered upon Jonathan's skin.

"Hey Jono, how are things at home? Do you need to talk about anything?" Andrew tried to fashion his question carefully. He didn't want to be there if there were punches being thrown, but he didn't want anyone else there if his friend started breaking down. Jonathan turned his head slowly. The mixture of the lifeless eyes that held Andrew's gaze and the dark bags under those eyes made him gasp slightly.

"It's fine." Jonathan's voice was unusually monotone, lacking the power and confidence that was ever-present in the son of two respectable lawyers. A cold wind blew through the locker room, racking shivers through every boy, chilling them to their core, and causing the silence to suffocate Andrew as he watched his friend, bruised and beaten, defeated and ready to give up, and knew that there was nothing he could do to stop this.

Andrew winced at the crude two syllables, unsure of how to react to this figure in front of him that was so starkly different from his boisterous and bold friend. To Andrew, that voice was synonymous with lies, with deadly secrets, and they never kept secrets from each other. It had been one of the reasons why they were so close; they knew more than they should, and couldn't make the other forget about it. Andrew knew of how deep Jonathan's hatred for his parents ran, but to have physical evidence that it was reciprocated and that something horrific was happening every time he said goodbye was unnerving.

Jonathan swayed back to stare at the wall, and kept getting changed as if nothing happened. By his movement, the other boys were startled out of their frozen positions and they swiftly turned back to what they were doing, unable to look at Jonathan and his scar-riddled body. The next few minutes passed in a silence that was felt rather than heard, pressing down on each boy's lungs as the room seemed to become an oven. Just when it seemed that someone would faint from apparent lack of oxygen, the coach burst through the doors and began his weekly rant of how slow teenage boys were.

Throughout training Jonathan trudged about, missing the ball, his face pulled into one of defeat and hatred. Where the boys would've yelled at someone for making as many mistakes as Jonathan did, there was nothing but reassuring words, gentle dismissals and soft smiles of boys that wanted to help as much as they could. Andrew felt an immense pride at the team for accepting that something happened to Jonathan, and doing everything within their power to make him feel safe.

With the end of training approaching, the boys sat red-faced on the grass, watching the trees sway angelically in the gentle breeze as they caught their breath, all thoughts from the locker rooms locked away as they basked in the content moment. They bided the time chatting and laughing, waiting as the minutes ticked by to the end. Andrew sat as close to Jonathan as he could without the other boy flinching away; he had touched him before without warning and Jonathan had cowered away, and as he sat, he wondered what would happen after training finished.

Suddenly, a forceful tempest rolled over and with it blew Jonathan's good mood. The tree branches bent precariously above the boys as they watched two figures approach them from the carpark. Jonathan became rigid, his eyes darting towards the woods, the school and then back to the figures again. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he heaved a sigh and picked himself off of the ground. Turning back to the boys, to Andrew, he delivered his last message,

"Wish me luck."

~|~

This was for a Creative Writing assessment this year. We had to write a short story that portrayed an idea or theme from The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson.