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Alexander Louis Leloir, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel, 1865.
"He was like a wild thing that hides, not a wild thing that pursues."
— Iris Murdoch, The Unicorn
Trigger Warning (TW): Explicit content on CA (Child Abuse) and violence.
The earth stains his feet as he runs against the wet soil, the night fog licking his ivory skin. He can't stop his body from shivering as the cicadas scream all around him. His lungs try to catch up with his pace. The stars watch him like angels as he struggles his way through the forest.
"Don't let me catch you, Jacob."
Misery increases his adrenaline and fear increases his speed. He runs through the forest, oak trees keeping his scent safe, and only the whimpering of animals keeps him company. His stomach sinks deeper into his core with terror because he knows they're close. He's getting better at sensing it.
Don't let me catch you.
Don't let me catch you.
Don't let me catch you-
Birds fly in a haze above him to flee from whatever direction the gunshot comes from. His feet pick up and the sticks carve into his feet while the branches try to drag him away. He can't cry anymore. He's cried enough but despite the dread consuming his small body, he knows that to give up would be to die.
He looks up, witnessing dawn painting the sky the deepest shade of blue as the sun was making it's appearance. Nevertheless, he runs. He knows better than to let them win before whatever was in the forest makes him their meal.
Find the ribbon. Find the ribbon. Don't let them catch you.
The deafening silence of the woods is broken by his stomach. He's seen dawn return twice. His body finds rest in a hole that he shares with worms, roaches, and beetles that don't mind his sweat and fear. He stops remembering how much his body aches for food whenever the gun shots go off.
He's deeper into the forest, but his trails are marked with certain leaves he's found throughout the day. The colors and the scent of the forest is stored permanently in his mind. The vibrancy of the trees and grass gives him a comfort he's never felt better. He weeps until the cicadas come to sing to him at night. He doesn't mind being in the heart of the forest. He rather stay here more than anything. He eats the berries the animals do to soothe his stomach and listens tentatively for voices. They're getting closer every three hours.
"Don't let mommy catch you, Jacob!"
He curdles inside his hole for relief, finding solace within the leaves and debris.
___
He can't remember the last time he's had water. His tongue wrinkles against the top of his mouth but he can't stop moving his feet. He feels the vibration of their footsteps and rarely hears the animals anymore. They're close. His feet ache so badly- poorly and he's used the last material of his shirt to keep the cut on his stomach from bleeding. His ghastly body is painted in blues and reds but he can't stop.
Find the ribbon. Find the-
He feels the wind of the bullet brush his arm, but he never stops to look back. He can only run faster, knowing there's one area he hasn't discovered yet. He hasn't been able to sleep well, so Jacob retraces his steps in his spare time to map the whole forest till he knows it like the back of his hand. He memorizes the plants he should eat, locations where the animals stay away from, which trees to come back to for shelter, and where to get water. He's done it all to survive till this moment.
He races through the forest recognizing every pathway he takes to make a different turn each time.
Find the ribbon. Find the ribbon. Find the ribbon.
"Don't let me catch you! -
He almost runs past it. Yet, the early sunrise illuminates it's color. He listens to the bullets past his face and the hysterical giggles coming from his mother. But he ignores them and, finally, grasps the pink ribbon with his tiny lungs collapsing.
"Happy 8th birthday, Jacob. Well done but... your time needs to be shorter. " He gazes into the barrel of the shotgun and his father's cold amber eyes before fainting.
---
"Tonight, if you fail me, you might as well die in this ring." His father speaks in their native language. Jacob feels the stings of his father's words, iciness heavy.
"You're useless to me if you can't win this. Prove that you're worthy enough by staying alive. If not, surrender to death."
The men's shouts are like chalk boards to his ears. He looks into his father's eyes that mirror the same coldness Jacob grows into. His gaze lands on the figure far across from him: a blonde and bulky boy who holds bitterness in his eyes like it raised him. He reminds Jacob of some animal near death, rabid and desperate. He points his finger at Jacob then brings his pale thumb across his own neck. Jacob watches the blood roll down the neck who continues to hold his stare.
"He's three years' older than you, but that shouldn't be a problem. Right, Jacob?"
He whimpers but it's gone before his father can hear and wears a face of stone. Suddenly, the bell rings.
"Fight!"
He doesn't even have the chance to blink before he's punched in the face. He continues taking blows to the head, his cheek roaring with pain, and migraines encompassing every surface of his skull. Jacob, in pain yet dissociating, watches his own blood splatter across the ring's floor then stares into his father's eyes again. His father, with indifference, watches him be ripped to pieces.
It does something to Jacob. He can't stand any of this. He can't stand the smell of this place, these men- disgusting, greedy, and worthless men that pit children against each other. He hates his parents and how they continue to preach he's not good enough since the day he was born. Yet, they train him to the point where he's never had a day his body didn't ache. He hates having to learn every muscle, fiber, and bone in the body just to memorize how to break it. He hates the dangerous games his parents put him through every Saturday. Most of all, he hates his father's eyes and mother's voice. It's worse than condescending and facing disappointment. They make him want to die. They make him want to tear everything apart every time they look at him.
Their own hatred and evilness projects onto him. Even on the brink of death, he sees nothing but rage in it's purest form. If he can't release the red onto them, then he'll unleash hell on someone else.
In a flash, he shoots out his hand, grabbing onto his opponent's fist then bends it far back fracturing the boy's wrist. Ignoring his screams, Jacob swiftly rotates positions where he's on top of him and waste no time to encompass his head in a rigid chokehold.
"Kill him," His father's shrieking intertwines with psychotic frenzy," Just like I taught you, son!"
Next, without hesitation, he twists the head vigorously in the opposite direction of the body. Another crack fills the room and the blonde boy's body falls to the ground with his neck rearranged strangely. The silence among the crowd increases as Jacob leers at the dead body, and spits out his own blood. The stench of sweat and copper dominate his nose.The yearning to leave his body is strong as he watches his disheveled reflection in his victims dead stare. His father collects his wins from the men that dare to bet against his son.
"I told you he could do it. I trained him, didn't I?"
"He's a natural born killer."
"He's only 10!"
"He looks sick."
"He must be psychotic!"
"You see how fast he twisted that neck?"
"Evil."
He covers his mouth to stop himself from vomiting as he gazes into his opponent's empty blue eyes again. Jacob can feel his chest tearing and he grips his head. Tears run down his face as he tries to block out the smell, the whispers, and the never-ending ticking inside his head.
___
"He's so weird."
"He looks sick."
"Do you think he's actually crazy?"
"Evil."
Jacob can't focus in class. Since last night, the image of the boy's body with his neck twisted imprints itself in Jacob's head and the pain in his chest won't stop. His face is swollen and the memories of the match keep flashing before his eyes.
Next, without hesitation, he twists the head vigorously in the opposite direction of the body.
"Because we finished class early today," The teacher's voice rings over his head," It's time to pass out your valentine treats for the last 30 minutes of class!"
Feet run past him and towards him, but his desk remains spotless. He hears the laughter of his classmates celebrating, teasing each other over their crushes, and the constant unwrapping of candy. However, compared to the noise in his head, it's like the softest murmur.
...Jacob leers at the dead body, and spits out his own blood. The stench of sweat and copper dominate his nose.
"Where's your candy, Jacob?
Nothin. The teacher sways awkwardly when he doesn't answer after 20 seconds while staring blankly into his lap. His amber eyes remain empty with his body still, never signifying if he heard her or not. Not knowing what to do and slightly disturbed when Jacob begins to rock himself, she speaks uneasily," Well...That's okay! Maybe tomorrow?"
Not waiting for his reply, the teacher scurries off while he hears a few of his peers cackling.
He covers his mouth to stop himself from vomiting as he gazes into his opponent's empty blue eyes.
"What a freak."
___
Jacob wasn't imagining it. He glances at various windows of cars to make sure she's following him. After leaving the school, he sees her.
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