Jack and Jill
Jack was a darling baby. We knew it was just muscle spasms, but he smiled at us minutes after leaving the womb. We were prepared for sleepless nights and endless tantrums but he remained calm and cheerful, even when he was sick or frustrated. We would fight to read him his bedside story and as he progressed from nursery rhymes to children’s fiction we would often stay with him until he dropped off to sleep.
Jack met Jill a few years before leaving school. We watched, amused, as his body transformed itself while his voice broke. They spent long hours in his room, supposedly studying, and we exchanged knowing glances as we heard them laughing and giggling.
Jill had long blond hair, sparkling blue eyes and dimples every time she smiled.
They made the perfect pair.
She was almost unrecognisable when we saw her in the morgue after the accident, and the hit and run driver was never apprehended.
Now Jack punishes his body with tattoos and spends hours scowling in front of the mirror. We are often woken in the middle of the night by his screams.
Jack is an angry man.
This is my second week back to Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. It’s nice to be back.