Jack.

It’s not Endymia (that’s on it’s way) but it’s a short story I’ve had to write for Psychology Class. Based on the Psychosexual Development theory by Freud, this story’s about a child whose upbringing resulted in… well, you’ll have to read to find out. This is a new style for me, I attempted to jump about in time and write in the character of Jack, so any constructive feedback is appreciated. This story was written over a time period of 6 hours with no drafts or synopsis. I hope it doesn’t show.

If, after the story, you’re interested in what I based my storyline around on, please direct yourself here. It’s rather interesting but I won’t be offended if you don’t take the theory in as fact. xD

This story is for mature audiences only and is only intended to be used for entertainment purposes.

All characters in this story are entirely fictional and any resemblence to real-life people is entirely coincedental.

-enjoy-

Jack

Jack was born in 1995 to a family of three in South Yorkshire, England. His Mother, Father and older Sister surrounded him for the first stages of his life, when he needed them, and they were there to see the changes he went through. He was christened under a catholic church, brought up in a religious family and led to believe that his way of life would lead him into heaven. Brown haired, brown-eyed, lively and enthusiastic to live, Jack experienced a lot as a child, good and bad, and religious or not, it were those bad experiences that led to his eventual demise…

* * *

He sat there, looking around the cold, grey kitchen, impatiently gurgling as he watched his Mother bring his food. That green stuff, he named it so because he had no idea what he was eating. All he knew was that is tasted good and that he couldn’t get enough. Fortunately for him though, after the loud sound of the nearby blender came to a halt, his Mother brought him a more than average sized portion. Presented in his favourite red, plastic bowl with his spoon beside it, he dug in. Bliss! He laughed and gurgled as the green gloop washed down his throat, exciting his taste buds in ways only the Devil could have understood. He finished swiftly and looked up at his Mother with a proud smile on his face, caked, of course, in the very dinner in which he had indulged.

“Jack, why do you always have to make such a mess?” He Mother said in an unsympathetic tone, as she picked up the white tablecloth and wiped away the cold food, “Honestly, every meal is the same thing.”

He looked at her with a confused look as she walked over to the chromed sink in front of his highchair, gurgled and pointed to the bottle of milk on the sideboard. He was thirsty. He thought to himself, he had just eaten an entire bowl of that salty, green gloop, didn’t his mum know how thirsty it made him?

His Sister, Rachel, seven years old, skipped into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of milk off of the sideboard as his Mother spoke to her. He did not hear what was said, but he did see Rachel bring his milk to him. He thanked her kindly with an appreciative grin, took the drink and took a swig. It was nice and warm, the way he liked it; bubbly and enriched with flavour. He let out a loud belch and laughed in pleasure whilst his Father glanced up at him from his newspaper with a smile.

The first twenty-four months of his life passed with ease; eating, drinking, burping, it was a good life. But he was bored; he wanted something new to happen. And so it did. A few days after his second birthday, he walked into the brown living room and called for his Father. His Father was sitting down on the largest chair in the room with a red object in front of him. His Father picked up the object and walked towards Jack,

“Do you want to know what this is, son?” His Father spoke in a soft manner, “I’m going to be teaching you how to use this, we can’t have you in those nappies forever can we?”

Jack looked up at his Father with curious eyes, recognised the smile his Father wore as safe and allowed himself to be led upstairs into the bathroom.

* * *

The bathroom was bright, white and lit up like a newly born flame on a candle. The bath was to the right of the room, a sink next to it and a toilet facing the door leaving a white pathway from the door towards it. Jack’s Father walked halfway down the bathroom and placed the red object on the floor.

“From now on Jack, I want you to use this potty instead of your nappy. Whenever you need to, or are going to wee or poo, I want you to tell me and I’ll take you to this so you can use it.”

Jack’s Father walked towards him, he felt a little intimidated and nervous. His Father removed his nappy from him, and sat him down on the red potty.

“Every time you use this, Jack, I’ll give you a red star for this chart,” His Father pointed to the wall besides him where a blank chart with two rows had been placed, “When you get 5 red stars, I’ll treat you to a chocolate sweet okay? But, if you don’t use the potty and you use your nappy instead, I’ll put a black star on there instead. If you get any black stars I’ll have to remove one of your red ones. Do you understand Jack?”

Jack looked up at his Father once again with wide eyes; he wasn’t very comfortable with this at all. He wanted to keep his nappy, it was easy. But the idea of chocolate sweets seemed rather good, all he had to do was stop using his nappy and he’d get some.

Days went by, then weeks. Jack managed to receive lots of red stars and although he got a few black stars near to the start, he was almost getting the hang of it. The chocolates he received appeared to be doing the trick, as he loved the incentive to do something so easy. But he wanted more.

His Father and a few of his Father’s friends were outside. He could hear yelling and commotions and so he wandered to the open front door where he could see what was going on. He saw a large van, in which two of his Fathers friends stood inside holding one end of a large three-seat sofa. His Father was on the other end holding it up with a third man. Jack’s Mother came up from behind him and picked him up,

“Look Jack! Your Father’s been working really hard at work and so his boss has given us a present!” She smiled brilliantly and looked onwards, “Maybe we’re getting somewhere after all, eh?”

* * *

Jack looked down at the red sofa beneath him, his Mother laid on top asleep. The stain that he had caused as a child was still there. Sixteen years on and the same memories came to mind.

“Jack! What’re you doing!?”

“Oh no…”

“Jack that’s absolutely disgusting, how could you?”

“Oh my god, clean it, clean it quick before it stains!”

The voices echoed in his head as if to constantly remind him, ‘that’s dirty, keep everything clean…’ Now though, he was older, he knew what had to be done. His Father had passed away years ago. Stress had caught up to him and he had had a heart failure; his Sister, a drug addict. It had all gone downhill after his Father had departed, and even though they tried their best, they were all dirty, sinners. The house stank of it, the foul odour of sins. Rubbish littered the floors, empty beer cans and spirit bottles, mud and grime on the walls, used contraception and syringes in areas along with the white powder on the kitchen sideboard. Hypocrites; they had scolded him so harshly for what he had done yet they ended up like this. They needed cleansing…

He had earlier wandered home from some girl’s house after staying over after the party. That was all he seemed to do nowadays, sex and alcohol. His fascination with the female body had escalated incredibly over the past six years and his urges never seemed to calm down. His views that the world was dirty were something he and his choice in mate seemed to agree on, though perhaps they just said so in order to proceed with the foreplay. It was a lot different now that is was in earlier life. Before he had entered puberty, girls meant nothing to him. They were alien; he had distanced himself from them in school. He couldn’t remember why now, but he just seemed to think they were different. They may have been tidier and cleaner than the boys he pretended to hang around with, but they were just like his Sister and Mother, sinners; dirty, uncouth sinners hiding behind a pretty face. His school “friends” were troublesome, they liked to fight in the mud, throw sticks and stones and bully smaller children. He never liked these games, but joining in was the only way to distract attention from his own weaknesses onto someone else. It made life easier for him if he just joined in once in a while but because of this, and his fear of getting dirty or infected, he lacked friends.

He recalled the stage in his life right before his Father died. He was, in effect, obsessed with his own penis. He was 4 years old, but he had finally gotten free access to his nether regions. He was told off a number of times by his Father for playing with himself in what was referred to as, “Inappropriate times”. He hated his Father, always telling him what he couldn’t and couldn’t do. It wasn’t fair, how could someone like that receive the love of his Mother? It was then that the games begun. He had competed for his Mother’s attention, made loud noises when they were together, pushed in-between them while they hugged and even woke them up in the morning. But when his Father died, he couldn’t get the attention at all. His Mother and his Sister both completely ignored him as they mourned the death of his dad. He didn’t know it at the time, but he missed his Father. He missed him dearly.

* * *

He returned to the present and looked down upon the stain on the sofa; it all started then. When he, as a young child, took off his pants and did what he thought would have ended up in a number of chocolate sweets, he was scolded, terribly. He was terrified. His Father shouted, his Mother cried, his Sister ran away. He understood now, of course, but he was older. He now knew how important nice things were to the family, but the damage had been done. Because of his traumatic experience he had become obsessed with cleanliness and neatness in his teens. What had made it escalate into his current condition though, he had no idea.

He was still standing above his Mother. She was sitting on red sofa, now awake, looking at him, confused and worried. Quickly, he grabbed her. Put his left hand on her mouth and withdrew the cold, steel knife from his back with the other. “Mother, your cleansing will be swift. Rachel is upstairs, face down in the bathroom. She too, required cleansing.” As his Mother squirmed and attempted to scream for help, he raised the knife and pushed it into her throat, whispering the words, “You will not be the last.”

End

~ by Anubis on October 7, 2008.