For: Lindsay

The boy’s eyes were sunken into his skull more than usual; brilliant eyes, emblazoned with what seemed to be insanity. Eyes that were shrouded in shadows cast by a soft light from the Kokaubeam. Glass shards popped under his feet as he stumbled around the warped rooftop of an abandoned warehouse. Searing pain ripped through his arm. Jacob’s clothes clung to his body, wet with fluids. The same liquids sputed from a grotesquely serrated wrist. The night air was perfectly calm, as if wind didn’t exist. Normally, on a night like this, Jacob often found himself walking through the park; his feet dragging through a carpet of leaves. Tonight, he had barely escaped from Wolfhook with his life… but such luck mattered not. The boy’s battered body could not handle the loss of blood. He fell to the ground. The sound of his skull splitting on a protruding pipe was inaudible to him, for his ears were filled with blood. Jacob felt the relief of unconsciousness wash over him. He prayed for death.

***

An intense light pricked the boy’s pupils. Jacob’s skin was a snowy color. A sudden throbbing reminded him of the pain he was in. His head was buried under several layers of bandages. Everything slowly seemed to go in and out of focus. After several mintes of drowziness, an ugly man hobbled into the room; scraggly hair matted to his face with sweat. It brought out the dark circles under his eyes.

“Ka ha ha ha ha. Rise and shine, sleepy one,” the deranged, freak of a man sang sickly-sweet to Jacob. “Whatever on Earth happened to your hand?” The man questioned hungrily. An identification card dangling from his neck read ‘Dr. R. Sobotski.’ Keeping an eye on the doctor, the boy lifted his right arm. He saw that where his hand had once been, a large, shiny pirate’s hook was in its place. “Oh, dear!” Sobotski seemed concerned, “Tell me who did this boy!” he commanded, salivating profusely.

Jacob opened his mouth for the first time and whispered, “No.”

Sobotski grabbed for the overhead light and thrust it in the young man’s face. “You will tell me who…”

Jacob interrupted his captor, “Je n’ aime pas,” he croaked, punching the light bulb out with his left hand and climbing down off the operating table, “la lumiere.” A frail set of ribs were visible through the boy’s skin with each heavy breath; he could scarcely keep his balance. Jacob stared at his new hook for hand which, eerily, seemed to glow in the low lights. Sobotski stood in a nervous silence.

“You’ve seen Wolf-“

“Shut AUUGHHHP!” Sobotski received a hook in the eyeball, puncturing his brain. Cerebral fluids fountained out of the gory, gaping void and cascaded down the man’s face.

***

Jacob slumbered on a broken park bench, drowning in his tattered black coat. The one hook tinkled with the regular pittering of raindrops.

Jacob forgot he was asleep…

***

In the basement of a building with eight stories, a strange girl was laughing. A bright laughter that illuminated the forgotten room in all its bareness. Each time the boy opened his mouth to speak or motioned his hand, she cried. He ran at her, not for sure. Silence reigned, shackles chained. A small for ashened face in the corner; cool concrete on the flesh of the mourner. Twisting of hairs, falling down stairs. Collapse? Perhaps.

***

Jacob woke up, soaking, his eyes barely open. Parts of him were submerged in a muddy pool; although, he didn’t care enough to put an effort into moving. He shifted his attention to a sharp stinging in his chest. Jacob wiped the moisture from his face.

“Blood?” Jacob mouthed the word. Then came the disturbing discovery of his mutilated chest. The skin, shredded, like paper. The crimsony mess was everywhere. It dripped, thick, from his fingertips and the point of his hook. Jacob’s furious sobs were muffled by the heavy fog circumferencing the park. Why had this horrific misfortune befallen him? He dispuised the hook and writhed whenever he thought of it. Jacob dug into the bench with his hook, trying to rid himself of the cursed thing. He shook it in the air and swung it about, but to no avail. He only slashed himself in the face. A vertical cut over his eye was opened up. “Nooo..,” Jacob wailed.

“Excuse me, young man,” a strong voice broke the silence. A broad-shouldered man in flowing blue robes parted the clouds as he walked. The boy knelt on the ground, unmoving, his back to the stranger. “My name is Nicholas… …from Olea,” he continued as he approached the boy. Jacob rose and turned to face him. The man had a young face. He was clean shaven and had a well-trimmed, full head of hair. Though, his eyes, powerfully accentuated by glasses, looked as if they were ages old. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah..,” Jacob replied, casting his lesioned face downward. Nicholas laid a gentle hand on the boy’s filthy back and helped him away.

Author’s Note: It made me feel good to write this story. Like when you lay on the grass on a breezy October night and watch the clouds float by.