A Flower in the Breeze (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

Chapter 2: A Boy Locked Away (Updated)

Glass in his lungs. That's a feeling he'd gotten used to after the 17 years that he'd lived. Frail bones and a weak body. He couldn't imagine anything else. Jackson Castellan groaned as he glanced out his tinted window. Dark enough so that no one could see in, but light enough so that he could see out. Everyone said it's a miracle that he survived past the age of 2. He just wished he didn't have to be a miracle child. The torturous feeling of breathing too deep left him feeling empty and unable to do much of anything, but it's not like he can do anything about it. A disease that 1 in 10,000,000 have and there is no cure or exact treatment. Pain meds, inhaler, water, sleep, repeat.

Jackson rolled in his wheelchair to his desk where a leather covered sketchbook sat with a thin layer of dust. Having been too weak to get out of bed for a while, there was no way for him to use it. He opened the thick book and flipped the heavy-duty pages. Landing on an unfinished drawing he picked up a light sketching pencil that was worn nearly to the end. The pale boy began to finish his drawing zoning out as he did so.

Thoughts of his life passed though his mind. His father who was always too busy paying off debts to pay any attention to him. His step-mother, who is the cause of half the debts. His step-sister, who was unable to take the mental manipulation that his step-mother dished out and ran away. Those who have come and gone into the family and that have disappeared one way or another.

Before long his lungs reminded him that such thoughts are dangerous. Shards of glass entered his lungs as small tears rolled down his face and his breath began to quicken. He shook his head allowing himself to calm down enough to think clearly. Rolling over to his bedside drawer, he grabbed his inhaler and wasted no time in doing what he's done since he was little. He glanced at the analog clock in the corner; somehow an hour had passed, though to him it felt like a couple minutes.

He glanced back at his sketchbook and examined what he'd drawn. A field of flowers with a clearing in the middle. A picnic table sits sternly in the middle, a proud symbol standing out from the dark and eerie forest that looms on the other side. Clouds dot the sky and a flock of birds flutter to their destination. A circle of dirt and rocks lay under the table forming four odd patterns. The tan colored paper gave the whole page a kind of old feel, like an old scroll you would see in a movie about unlocking karate secrets.

Confusion made itself known on Jackson's pale face as he finished analyzing the picture. Those odd symbols had been appearing more and more in his drawings though never so prominent before. Although he wasn't sure why, they gave him a nervous feeling in his chest. They gave him a feeling of death and impending doom. He was pretty sure that wasn't the feeling that a drawing of a picnic table was supposed to give him.

He shook his head and closed the book. As he did so he heard the front door open and close. The cautious tapping of two different pairs of feet and giggling that could only mean his step-mother was home with one of the many guys or girls that she brought over when his dad isn't home. He rolls over to his door and locks it knowing what's going to happen. He heard some stumbling along with the crash of something heavy on the couch and something glass crash and break.

He wheeled over to his bed that was modestly adorned with cream colored sheets and a blanket with random black splotches like a never ending inkblot test. He had two thin off white pillows placed carelessly at the top of his bed as one half hung off. He decided to busy himself with cleaning the paper plates littered with different foods that sat around his bed. The thought of his step-mom, who was only about 5 years older than him, doing something so vile with some unknown person in his father's living room while he's off trying to pay the debt she caused them was enough to make his blood boil.

He stared at one of the plates and cleared his thoughts. He rubbed one of his arms that was covered in hives. More and more of those annoying little bumps had started showing up within the past month. He's also been feeling weaker, but there was no way he would tell his dad that. Jackson already felt like a burden, no use in making his dad worry more.

Throwing away the plates he looked back out the window hoping for a clear distraction. He watches the neighboring children walk by. Probably on their way to the pool a couple blocks away. It was a pretty hot day as the summer was reaching its end.

Someone caught his attention as they were running. Bright red, curly hair like fire was flying behind her and a soccer ball in front of her. She skidded to a halt in front of his house. She looked around confused before looking right at him. He was sure she couldn't see him, but it seemed like she could as they stared at each other. He noticed something from the second floor window that he probably shouldn't have. Though she didn't make it obvious her sharp green eyes showed how broken she was. He knew because he had seen that same look every time he looked in a mirror. A moment that seemed like forever passed before she shook her head and headed off with her soccer ball ahead of her. He followed her until she was out of view and his head seemed to spin for a minute before returning to what he was doing confused as to what had happened.