Alphabet ≫ Jarchie

Bonus One Shots Week #1

Dichotomy— a classification into two opposed parts or subclasses.

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"Didn't I tell you to stop playing by the fence!" The little boy's mother yelled harshly. Her black hair shook behind her as she angrily raised her calloused hands and moved them around in the animated way she often did when she talked.

"But mama, the people on the other side look so much happier," Jughead sighed. He spent every day lingering by the small, chained fence watching people walk past without a care in the world. They didn't seem to walk without a smile on their face.

He was too scared to hop the fence, though he wanted to. He could, easily. He was four and a half feet and growing. He was at least a head taller than that stupid old fence.

"What's your obsession with them folk? They could care less about us. This has to do with that little boy again, doesn't it?" She questioned. Her black eyes darkened and she couldn't help but scoff. She didn't get along with the people on the other side. No one did. That's how things were. A fence set a boundary between them, but it was their own free will that separated them.

"He's nice to me! The different colored hair boy!" Jughead said, giggling. He was much cooler than his other friends on this side of the fence.

"Boy, what nonsense are you talking about? His hair is black," she sighed, knowing that the little boy was already contaminating his head with nonsense.

"No mama. It's light black, with light grey highlights," He explained, dragging out his choice of words. Everyone on their side of the fence had black or light hair. Archie was different. He'd never seen anything like it. "He said that his hair was red though, whatever that means."

There it was, she thought, that nonsense they believed on the other side. "I don't want you talking to that black haired boy again," she fumed, doing her own emphasizing. Nothing good ever came from people on their side of the fence getting involved with the others. They left to go squander away a day over there and came back depressed, chatting about color nonsense. It was why most of the town was in a mental hospital.

"But mama—"

"I don't want to hear anymore about it! Now go upstairs and change. Dinner's almost ready," she mumbled as she sauntered her way back into the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her white apron and tried her best to navigate her way through her monotone world.

"What are we having for dinner?"

"Can't you see boy?"

Jughead frowned, stumbling his way into the kitchen and trying to peak over the sleek, black stove. "Everything looks the same to me."

"Everything looks the same to you but that black-haired boy's hair is light black with grey highlights," she muttered under her breath.

"Light black with light grey highlights," he corrected before running off to his room.

That night, after a bland dinner of darkened chicken and bright, white corn, Jughead sat in his room and came up with a plan. He was tired of looking at the same light grey walls he woke up and slept in every night. He wanted to go to the other side. They seemed way more excited about being alive. On his side of the fence, most people didn't live until forty-five. His mom liked to say that they died of fulfillment. Jughead liked to think they died of boredom.

Tomorrow he was going to climb over the fence and find Archie.

***

As soon as his mother left to go to work in her usual work attire, a pressed white shirt and grey dress pants, Jughead dashed out the house with an excited smile on his face. The worn down fence wasn't too far from his house. It was practically in his backyard. His bare feet padded the soft, grey grass and his skin welcomed the hot, white sun. It was a beautiful day outside, he could tell. There were hardly any clouds and the sky was a perfect warm grey.