So this is a first shot to a Jack story. Written plenty of fanfictions and originals alike so no worries, this ain't about to be some huge cliché. I tend to like my stories to have their own plots and own characters as much as possible speaking mainly fanfictions when said as much as possible is used so I probably won't be following the plot of POTC 1, 2, or 3 very well. Sorry for the inconvenience but deal with it all the same. Savvy?
Enjoy.
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Like sugar, the sweetest thing I ever tasted.
Like a fine merlot,
And white pills cut on glass and lips of dolls.
I'm told there was beauty in our silence.
So hold me angel, love me angel.
Invite me to pray, let the music glow.
Ignite my eyes and watch the poison flow.
Say it with me: "We Are Ghost!"
Not too loud, the Kingdom follows.
-"Killer Likes Candy" by I Am Ghost-
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Lost Innocence
Chapter One
Lost Innocence
The eight-year-old boy sniffles and hides lower into his corner, willing the wall to just suck him in. He hears the heavy, drunken footsteps staggering around upstairs as the older man screams at his wife and a strained cry is heard before a profound thud sounds. The door at the top of the stairs opens and a young woman hurries down the stairs, her skirts gathered in a trembling fist. "Jack darling, come along son, out the back door," the woman whispers urgently, trying to lift the child from the floor.
"No. Where's my mummy?" The woman doesn't respond but instead reaches down and tugs on the little boy's hand, trying to get him to stand. "WHERE'S MY MUMMY?" the boy screams, causing the young woman to gasp in fright and stumble back.
"Honey, stop yelling! You don't want the master to hurt you, do you?"
"You're evil! Go away!" Determination set in her face and infuriated, the young woman stalks away from the young boy, cursing softly under her breath. Before long the doors open again and an older man descends the steps, grimacing as he catches sight of the shaking child. He lifts the boy easily from the floor and drags him up the stairs, shouting obscenities the whole time. When they reach the kitchen the little boy shrieks and tries to scurry backwards.
A young woman lies on the floor, her breathing shallow and her face pale. She smiles slightly with blue lips and stares over with bloodshot eyes at the wide-eyed boy. "My baby boy," she whispers, reaching up a hand. The older man releases the little boy and he slowly stumbles over to the woman.
"Mummy?" he questions, his small brown eyes filling with tear as the older man unravels his long whip.
"I love you Jack," she gasps, holding his fingers tightly for a moment and then going limp as her chest falls one last time and her eyes stare up at the little boy, lifeless and lonely. Before he can react the whip is brought down hard on the boy's back and he cries out once before holding it all in…
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The eleven-year-old boy stumbles down the hall, his legs giving way underneath him as he is just beyond reach of his destination. He lets out a small whimper and drops to his stomach, his hand twitching as he tries to grasp the door hand that's too far away. "You insolent, sordid dog! Don't turn your back on me, caitiff! Face your punishment like a man!"
The whip cracks the stale air as the boy groans and forces himself upward, hot tears forming in his eyes as white-hot pain sears up his bleeding back. His scarred legs burn while the two recently placed bullet wounds in his chest ache indescribably. He falls again as the door opens and bile rises in his throat as saliva rolls down his chin and his labored breathing quickens a great deal. He struggles to drag himself to safety but after climbing the stairs his adrenaline rush to get away is gone. Just as a door is shot with the gun the hidden door in the wall pops open and a young girl appears. Without a word she lifts the boy from the floor and disappears back into the wall. She carries the bilious child down the stairs quickly as her small arms cannot bear such weight, even though little, for long.
Upon entering a room at the end of the staircase she is pleasantly surprised to find her nurse awaiting her arrival. "What ever has occurred?"
"Simply a malentendu."
"Care to elaborate, my mistress?"
"One of the blacks was inside the house and caused a disruption but blamed it on Jack and my father believed the malicious creature. He was inebriated when said crime was committed and went after Jack with a gun and whip."
"Oh deary me, the poor child has gone through so much."
"And your turn for elaboration, nurse?"
"Have you tended to Jack at all before?"
"Not to the extent that I am sure you and the other woman do."
"Stay and watch, young one." The little girl nods before pulling up a stool to the now comatose boy lying on the small bed. The nurse slowly begins removing the little strips of clothing he has left from his dirty shirt and the young girl stares in revulsion at the wounds covering his chest and arms: fresh and old bruises, new and old whip marks, scars from various wounds, the two bullet wounds, and other signs of vile physical abuse…
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"Do you remember the time when everything was right and our laughter never ceased?" the fourteen-year-old boy questions as he huddles close to the fire, his back cold and wet with warm blood.
"How could I ever forget?" an equally young girl responds, her green eyes shining with tears as she looks down at the poor boy. Quickly, she sweeps her red hair up in a messy bun, trembling as she kneels behind him. After that first night experiencing what the young boy had been put through the girl promised she would watch him carefully. She had always been good friends with the boy, they were like siblings if nothing else, but now they were inseparable.
'When we used to play hide and go peek until we couldn't run anymore? And when our innocence wasn't lost to…" the boy falters, tears coming to his eyes but not dropping past as he blinks and won't let them release. Lost to abuse, the girl thinks awfully as she put a hand on his shoulder. She stares down at his bruised and bleeding back, noticing the needles and clumps of salt inadequately hidden within those whip marks, and the broken bruises, oh how they ooze repulsive white pus.
"When I would sneak ice cream down to you in the middle of the night and then we would run around the yard and beach?" The boy lets out a strangled sob as the girl covers his back with a wet cloth and sops up the blood. She knows the crying is not from the memories but from the pain as the boy would never reveal his emotions too much in the company. He draws his knees up to his chest and places his head between them, an obvious sign of his nausea as she starts to pick the needles out with a pair of sparkling silver pliers.
Eventually the eight needles are revealed and the girl leaves before returning with hot water to wash the salt out with. By high moon, the boy's back is clean of everything and let to sit dry as the new scars pulse and shine a dreadful red. Wiping her eyes, the girl returns to the bathroom to drain the water and hide all evidence of the help she has given…
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And that be the first chappie. Comments?