Disclaimer: Own nothing but the plot
Author: Jollification
Rating: T for death of child and swearing
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Lost Chances
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The metallic crack of the screen door hitting the house rings out in the morning air.
Run. Run. Run.
The muscles in his legs ache. His lungs take in and blow out frigid air quickly, willing him to run faster. Angry screams can be heard radiating out of the house, he's scared…but he's even more scared at the thought of what will happen to him if he slows. The angry bruises on his arms and back ache, as if reminding him of what he's running from.
The houses around him are a blur as he pumps his legs faster, attempting to gain speed. He doesn't give a thought as to where he's running, he just runs. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, and a cold sweat starts to accumulate on his forehead. Ignoring the protest of his burning legs, he picks up his pace, running forward.
After what seems like an eternity of sprinting, he stops, falling to the ground in a heap, gasping for air. The cold air hurts his lungs and he coughs. Jack coughs more, the quick intake of air making him dizzy. He rubs his eyes, as if willing to make the distortion of his sight go away. Better.
Chest rising and falling quickly, he surveys his surroundings. The dull brown and red of brick buildings line his sight.
He doesn't know where he is.
A quick sliver of fear runs through him.
'How far did I run?' he thinks to himself.
Pushing himself up off the street, he looks around again. An old couple walks side-by-side, arms clasped together, down the sidewalk. Walking past Jack, the two throw him a questioning look.
He turns away from their stares and walks onto the sidewalk casually, walking in the opposite direction of the elderly people; the last thing he wants is a grown up to ask him questions. He glances over his shoulder quickly to see if they're following him. They're further away now, not giving him a thought in the world, going about their business. Jack lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He didn't want to get caught, if someone realized he ran away from his foster father, they would tote him back to that place.
'No way,' he thinks to himself.
Adults would only get him in trouble.
The wind cuts through the air, tussling his blonde hair.
"Damn, it's cold," he mutters to himself. It's not just cold, it's freezing. His teeth chatter against his will, and he looks down at the oversized sweater and baggy pants he's wearing.
Maybe he should have given this more thought. Maybe he should have packed a bag or something?
It had been a spur of the moment action; he had to do it, he didn't have time to think.
His thoughts wandered to earlier, to what made him sprint out the door, not looking back.
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His stomach gurgled painfully. He was hungry. He just needed something to keep him going for the day.
He had not eaten in two days.
Jack creaked his door open slightly, eyes landing on his drunk foster father sprawled in the blue recliner in front of the television. The television was on, but muted, making Jack's plan of action more demanding. He watched his foster parent for a few more seconds, making sure he was really awake.
All Jack needed to do was make a squeak, and if his foster father woke up he would be beat with the belt.
Burning fear shot up his spine, but the gurgle of his stomach drowned it out.
He opened his door further and put a foot out, hoping the floorboards wouldn't creak under his weight. Jack took small baby steps, trying to be silent. He tiptoed to the kitchen, making his way past his snoring foster father, eyes locked on the man, watching for the slightest movement that would indicate he had woken up.
Jack took another step.
The man brought up his arm.
Jack froze, like a deer in headlights.
The man scratched his nose, snorted, mumbled something unintelligible, and went back to snoring.
Jack's leg muscles loosened; he had been ready to sprint back to his room. He took a small breath and inched closer towards the kitchen door. After what seemed like an eternity of measured and calculated steps, he was finally in the kitchen. Jack gave one last glance behind him, making sure the man had not awakened. Snoring met his ears, and he gave a small smile. Dare he hope he would actually get something to eat?
The 10 year old surveyed the kitchen, eyes wandering the counters for anything edible.
Nothing.
He padded over to one of the cabinets, standing on the tips of his ragged sneakers, willing himself to reach the handle of the cabinet. With much stretching, he silently opened the small door. Inside was a box of Cheerios, already opened. It was the only thing he could take. His foster father wouldn't realize any was missing…hopefully. Reaching up, he grabbed the box, the sound of muffled cereal shifting inside. Jack glanced back over to where his foster parent laid in the other room, still asleep.
Maybe this would work out.
He took a plastic bowl and spoon that had been thrown into the dishes, wiping them out. They would have to do. Jack popped the flaps of the box open, cupped the opening of the box, and poured the Cheerios into the bowl. A few dull clanks came from the bowl as the cereal filled it.
Finally having the desired amount, he quickly but quietly propped the cabinet open and stuck the box back exactly where it had been.
Proud of himself, Jack quietly picked up the bowl, stuck his spoon in and took a bite of the dry cereal.
Jack smiled at how good the Cheerios tasted. His stomach happily silenced itself at the single bite of dry cereal. It was a little dry. Hearing the snoring in the other room still, he glanced at the fridge.
'He won't miss a little milk, will he?' he asked himself. Deciding that to just take a little, he popped the fridge open, cool air blasting his face temporarily. Jack eyed the gallon of milk. He grasped the handle of the milk, pulling it towards him, when the unthinkable happened.
The milk was heavier than he anticipated, and it fell from his grasp, hitting the ground with a loud plop. The white liquid gushed out all over the floor, flooding Jack's sneakers and wetting the frayed bottoms of his dragging jeans.
His face went pale as fear shot up his spine.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" an angry voice accosted him. His foster father was up. Taking in the sight before him, the man's face grew red. "Fucking stealing food from me you little piece of shit, after all the shit I do for you?!" the man screamed at Jack. The man lunged at Jack, grabbing a handful of the boy's tousled hair.
The screen door entered Jack's line of view, and only one thought entered his mind.
Run.
Quickly thinking, Jack slammed his sneakered foot down on the man's bare foot, earning a scream from the man.
"You little son of a…" the man yelled, but Jack was already out the door, sprinting down the street as fast as he could.
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Jack smiled at himself, remembering how good it felt to step on that bastard's foot.
"He deserved it," he stated out loud to himself. The cold air danced around him, bringing him out of his thoughts.
He shivered and looked down the street again, his eyes landing on a small store at the corner of the brick buildings. At least he thought it was a store. He walked towards it, looking into the windows to make sure it was indeed a store. He let out a small breath when rows of food and magazines met his sight. Jack stared into the store, there were only two people inside. Jack leaned close to the window and his warm breath fogged up the window, blocking his sight. He rubbed the fog away. The wind swept back up, and he involuntarily shivered.
He would go inside for a little bit, just to get out of the cold.
Jack walked to the door of the store and pushed it open, warm air bursting out of the opening. A bell jingled somewhere, signaling that someone entered the shop. He stepped in.
The old cashier looked up from behind the counter, sizing Jack up. He probably just looked like another punk to the man. Jack gave a shy smile and dropped his gaze to the floor, shuffling his feet down one of the aisles. Doritos and various junk food lined the racks, and Jack's stomach gave a little growl, remembering that it never got to finish the cereal from earlier. Jack ignored his stomach.
The other man in the store walked up to the register. Jack glanced at the man sideways from the junk food aisle. The man looked to be maybe in his twenties, with slicked back brown hair, and a black leather jacket on. The jacket had some sort of sports team logo on it. The man, feeling eyes on him, glanced over his shoulder seeing Jack eyeing him. The man smirked.
'Some kid probably trying to steal some candy or some shit,' he laughed to himself. Bobby remembered himself at that age. He looked at the kid, and took in his appearance. The kid was scrawny, even with the big sweatshirt on, his jeans were torn and looked too big, and his shoes looked like they had seen better days. The kid's hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed, spikes of dirty blond hair poking from odd angles.
Bobby raised an eyebrow.
Big blue eyes stared back at him, watching his every move. The kid looked jumpy, like he was ready to sprint from the store at the first sign of trouble.
"Is that all, sir?" the old man spoke from behind the counter, pulling Bobby from his musings. He turned back to the man.
"Yeah, that's it," he answered. He handed the cashier the money and took his stuff from the man. Bobby turned around to walk to the door, noting that the kid had moved to the far end of the aisle away from Bobby.
Bobby spared one last glance to the kid, who was cautiously staring at him from behind a display of chips at the end of the aisle. Something in Bobby's gut was bugging him about the kid, something wasn't quite right. He brushed off the feeling. He had to get this food home soon or Ma would smack him upside the head. Bobby pushed the door open, making his way out of the store, the tingling of the bell echoing into the street.
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Please tell me what you think, I'm always up for reviews, or tips. What will happen next? Find out soon.