Release
By Bucky
- 477 reads
Jesse Davis sat up right, his back pressed to the soft cushioned headboard, buffeted further by the two pillows that lay between him and the faux leather fabric. Placed on the bed, directly in front of him, was an aged chess set, a set that looked much older than Jesse himself, a set that looked as though it could tell its own story. The white pieces were positioned in front of Jesse, with the black, facing away to his invisible opponent. The game was well underway before the raised voices floated through the crack in the open door.
Jesse was four years old when his parents first started fighting. Now six, Jesse had still not gotten used to the sound of his father so irate at his mother. Tonight, he could not make out the topic of the current dispute, but by the accusing tone emanating from his father, he was sure it was once more his mother’s fault.
Jake tried to ignore the commotion for as long as he could, trying to concentrate on the game before him. That was until he heard the loud slapping sound and accompanying shriek, before the subsequent sobbing began. As Jesse raised his hand to cover his ears, he glanced over to the bedroom door, just as it slammed shut, the whole wall seeming to shake with the force. Tears were forming in his own eyes, as Jesse tried not to think of his father raising his hand to his mother once again. He removed his hands from his ears, allowing the sound to return in hope that it was over. He sat further upright, poised, his hands now placed by his sides pushing him forward towards the door, trying to hear the sound coming from the living room. Any sound was impossible to hear as the room was filled by the sound of the neighbour’s dog barking, leaking through the thin walls, no doubt triggered by the slamming door.
Eager to comfort his mother, and unable to hear if it was the right time, Jesse found a rage building inside himself as the frustration took hold. He raised his shaking hand to the wall that joined his room with the neighbours. His small fingers gently reaching out and touching the white coated plaster, trying to picture the beast on the other side. A moment after his skin made contact, a loud high pitch whine erupted through the wall, shortly followed by a light thud. The barking had stopped, leaving only silence.
Still unable to hear anything from his mother, he slowly raised himself from the bed, knocking over the chess set as he moved to the edge and placed his feet on the ground, his thick white sport socks cushioning his touch. He silently made his way to the door, before pressing his ear to the cold wood. It took a moment before there was any sound, but then, he could just about make out a soft gentle sobbing. Before he could open the door, Jesse heard the louder, billowing voice of his father, shouting something incoherent, his boots thudding on the wooden floor as he quickly made his way towards his mother. Despite the closed door, it was as if Jesse could see everything that was happening down the hall. He knew exactly what would happen when the footsteps stopped. Jesse Davis raised his hand to the wood of the door, angling his finger tips and then pressed. The boot steps stopped and were replaced by a sudden crashing and the sound of glass smashing.
Jesse pulled his hand from the wood and moved it over the handle, with one slight twist it was open and, in a blink, he was already half way down the hall toward the living room. A moment after the crashing of glass he had heard a slight scream escape from his mother. Now the only sound that could be heard was the continued light sobbing. The sound increasing volume as Jesse approached his mother who was stood by the far wall of the room. She had one hand crossed against her chest, the other was raised to her mouth, muffling the sobbing as much as she could, covering the thin trail of blood that leaked from her broken lower lip. Her stare was transfixed to the far side of the room. Jesse crossed to his mother, gently raising his finger tips to the soft, pale skin of her arm, causing her to flinch. Realising it was only her son, she reached down, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and pulled him into her thigh in an embrace.
It was only now Jesse turned to follow his mother’s eye line. The glass patio doors had been smashed through, splinters of the wooden frame mixing with the shards of glass that scattered the floor and lead out into the garden. In the low light of the mid November evening, Jesse Davis could just make out the outline of the figure lying on the grass, six feet from the house, the blooded body of his father. Jesse for the first time in a long while felt light. The feeling of pressure on his shoulders, as if someone pushing down on them, had been lifted. A small smile spread across his lips as his mother gripped him tighter to her thigh. Although her sobbing continued, Jesse knew that soon the sobbing would end, soon they would both be happy once more.
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Comments
A sad tale well told.
A sad tale well told.
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