Title Goes Here
Summary: Because all Jack ever wanted to do was give her a children's book. Or, in which Aster keeps the promise he made to his best friend, to keep hope alive in a little girl, while managing the death of his best friend.
Warnings: Character death, possible use of minor OCs (they're never too important), and than a major OC that's technically not an OC… Jack's sister.
Hey guys! I'm still in the process of writing my second chapter of "Fly With Me" but I've managed to catch writer's block on only my second chapter (how'd that happen?). So, to try and keep the creativity (and the stories) coming, I've decided to write this. Enjoy!
Chapter 1-
After all is said and done, he can't help but feel bad for the girl. The little ankle-bitter, just a few weeks shy of her first double digit, is curled into a ball at his side. The chair isn't meant for holding two people, but both of the Overland siblings were little more than skin and bones.
Both had the perfect shade of hazelnut brown for their hair, and caught the sun in their strands to make them shine. They both had a splash of freckles on their nose and make your dentist proud, perfectly straight, perfectly white. A spring and sense of purpose was always there, however faint when they walked and their voices were both crisp, and clean with the right amount of smile.
Damn.
This girl was just so much like him. Aster sees him when he looks at her. And he knows that he'll be doing a lot of that, as her new legal guardian.
The lad was right when he asked, begged his friend to take her, watch over her. The only living Overland would be their cousin, who is almost nineteen years old and lives across the country. Definitely unfit to take care, even if he wanted to, of the almost ten year old.
Even if he hadn't implored for his help in the fashion he did, Aster would have done it. He'd grown to love the girl like his own sister.
Damn it all.
The Australian wasn't one to curse, even in his teens. He was the eldest brother to twins and he'd tried his hardest to set a good example. After all, his father hadn't for him, and it was a wonder how he'd turn out so good after that drunkard of a father.
He could hear Jack saying those words to him.
It had been a Thursday night, and Aster had refused to come out of his apartment all day, mourning his loses when the younger man snuck into to room with a still hot container of carrot soup from the café they both loved, and two plastic cups of something with whipped cream and more calories than he'd like to imagine. But the peppermint taste had been sweet and familiar on his tongue and he found he didn't mind.
The night had been quieter than most of them, but neither minded. A movie rolled on, one of Aster's favorite, but all the details were fuzzy in his mind. Because those words were being said to him, and he knew he'd done alright.
At the very least alright.
Sophie, bless that child, had always been small. At the age of nine, she still looked six and acted like one as well. It hadn't been her fault, autism does that to a child. Yet, the young blond had loved them with her whole heart.
Jamie was the older of the two, with brown hair and eyes. He had a protective streak for Sophie, and a passion for writing. His imagination was wonderfully wild, and he read and reread that "Kids Can Write" book until he could quote every word. The kid loved fairytales, and legends. Santa Clause was his idol, and the Easter Bunny a hero.
He'd even call Aster the Easter Bunny for all the work he did during that holiday.
And Jack had joined in.
Aster opened his eyes, and willed himself to release the crushing grip on his pencil. It had become easier to think about Jamie and Sophie. The years rolled on, letting the pain lessen slightly, and those pink dresses in the little boutique near the coffee shop actually made him smile a little bit as he remembered tea parties and fairy wands and when the magazines still came in the mail saying there had been another Big Foot spotting he'd open the page and skim.
But thinking about Jack still hurt. And he kept opening that wound again and again, because he couldn't stop.
"Aster, I-I know I've asked… so much from you but p-please, I need you t-to do one last thing f-for me."
He could still smell the disinfectant. Mrs. Overland used it all the time, as Jack's home was the model of immaculate cleanliness, but this wasn't with the same love and care and hint of lemon. This was the hospital, the stench so strong as to block out the smell of blood, and tears and death.
"Nah mate, ya 've done so much for me. I figure it's time I return the favor, yeah?"
His accent was heavy, thick with emotion. He could see the smile slowly work its way onto Jack's face. Not the usual, to big for his face cheeky grin, or the smirk that insinuated a prank had been successfully plotted. It was that slow, sweet smile that Aster rarely saw. Especially directed at him. It was saved for chocolate ice cream on Jamie's new t-shirt, smudges of paint on Emma's cheek, and Sophie dancing with her fairy wings and strawberry ice cream pink tutu.
"In the drawer, third from the top is a dark blue folder. I've started something there, but I know I won't be able to finish it. Aster…"
The top drawer contained old CDs and a few of Jack's favorite movies. The second drawer contained an old band t-shirt, along with a few faded paperbacks. The third drawer was a sign that Jack was ever his mother's son. Neatly lined up spiral notebooks, a handful of sharpened number two pencils, two pink pearl erasers.
And a dark blue folder.
"Don' worry 'bout it mate, I'll get it all taken care of."
The folder was stuffed with papers. Pages of notebooks torn off, the back of a few unused napkins. Some of the papers were wrinkled, and others still straight and neat, like they'd come fresh from a new package. Some of it was typed, and others hand written.
It was a cold day in Burgess. Not cold enough for a snowball fight, though.
Old envelope addressed from a S. Mansnoozie. The stamp displayed a classic rainbow and clouds, all in gold sand. Messily written on the back with thick strokes from a fire red marker.
He grabbed a blanket, and a mug of hot cocoa from the tray, laughing along.
Slightly wrinkled printer paper, Times New Roman font, dark green ink.
And they were all friends, Jack Frost and the Easter Kangaroo.
Written carefully onto an index mark with the gray of a pencil. Cursive, slow and beautiful like fresh fallen snow.
And scene. What did you think? Please review!
-Seraphina Smiles :)