[Aiculik]

Fat drops of rain were hammering the window, leaving bright, pure traces on its grey dirt.

"Jacob?"

The window was dirty. The house was dirty. Everything he saw, everything he touched was dirty. His whole life, his very soul -

"Jacob! You there?"

- was dirty. He felt the sudden urge to open the window and stand on the roof, run out, to rip off his clothes, to let the rain hammer him, leaving the bright, pure traces, until he was quite clean -

"Jacob, if you're in the attic again... just wait till Dad finds out!"

- but of course he didn't do it. What would neighbours say if they saw him standing on the roof, naked, under stormy sky? He sighed quietly and got up. He was covered in dust. He tried to wipe it off, but it was useless. Unwillingly, he opened the door and carefully placed his leg on the ladder. The iron hissed spitefully under his foot. How he hated that stupid ladder.

"Mum? I'm here so what did you -"

"Jesus Christ! What were you doing, boy? Wait - is that - is that the new T-shirt Dad bought you yesterday? Are you really mad, Jacob? Are you?"

"No, Mum."

"Oh yes you are! Mad! Idiotic! Freak!"

"Mum..."

"Don't begin with that "Mum" now, Jacob. You know it'll piss him off. But I guess that's what our young rebellious hero wants, isn't it? Really brave, Jacob! Heroic!"

She broke up and turned her head away.

"Get away."

"Mum, I'm sorry..."

"No you're not. It wasn't the first time and I bet it wasn't the last time, either. What are you doing up there, anyway? Masturbating?"

"Mum!"

"'Cause you can do that in your bed, Jacob, I wouldn't mind, you know -"

"Mum...! Stop it! You're... you're... "

But he didn't finish. He turned on his heel and run out of the room and out of the hall and out of the house. Stupid house. Stupid T-shirt. He didn't care about his stupid T-shirt. He didn't need it, he didn't want it, he refused to wear it!

He stopped and pulled the thing off and tore it to pieces, his face red and screwed in an ugly grimace, enjoying the ripping sound. It was so satisfactory to throw the stupid T-shirt - or rather, those few rags it became - in the mud, and to jump on it, again and again and again... And amid that madness, a quiet, calm voice in his brain said that it was funny funny really funny and how would it look if he could see himself in the mirror now. He imagined himself, spluttering white bubbles of saliva, and emitting little red sparks of rage, covered in the mud... and it felt so good, oh sooo gooood... and he jumped and jumped and jumped...

Breathing hard, he stopped and looked down at the muddy something that just few hours ago was his brand new T-shirt from his father. It felt as if someone shoved a kilo of ice cubes down his neck.

Mum was right. He is insane. Freak. Dirty. Disgustedly he looked down at himself. He was so dirty that maybe it was him lying in the mud and someone was jumping on him... Imagine that. Now, how would that feel like? How deep is the mud? Would he sink in the mud deeper and deeper until he reached the other end of the earth and then finally drop out and fall into the depths of cosmos? He'd be floating around, forever, covered in mud...

Don't, he thought. Don't begin with thoughts like that. Not now. Now there's work to be done. He must wash himself. Hide the rags. And he'd better be quick. If his mother called him down, it meant that he was coming. He might be here any minute now.

***

Of course, it didn't help. It never did. The first thing the old slime told them was that he was taking them out for a dinner. Mum put on some dress, and she looked really sexy in it, what did she think she was doing? So he put on his worst jeans and shabbiest T-shirt he found. And the bastard put on that slimy smile like he always did when Mum was there and told him to go and change and to put on, for example, the new T-shirt he gave him yesterday. And there it was.

Mum froze, he could sense it. He tried to mutter some excuse, but the old bastard knew immediately. Like always.

"Been playing in the attic again, Jacob?"

Isn't it funny that in the comics characters always gulp in situations like this, when his mouth and throat and whole soul seem to be so drained that it seem impossible to gulp, not just now, but ever again?

"Do you have any idea how expensive that T-shirt was, Jacob?"

He never noticed before there's a spot in the right corner of the wall that looks like moon sickle. There, see, just below that tiny fly. He wished he was that fly, than he could just - oh come on, Jay, my dear, that's pathetic, said quiet calm voice, it's pathetic and you know it so why don't you just -

"Leave us alone, honey. I think we need to talk together as two men, you know."

He felt her hesitating look but he kept looking at the spot, as if it was going to crack any minute now, causing whole wall to collapse and then all house and they'd be all dead, dead under the rubble...

"Please, honey."

She left.

***

It was raining, as if it was mid-November and not supposedly the hottest month of the year. He opened the window and crawled on the roof. He couldn't see any lights anywhere; it must be really late. What a relief. No stupid neighbours to hide from. Not a living soul that'd care about him. He pulled off his pajamas and lay them down, watching the darkness and suddenly he felt peace. Peace and quietness falling from the heaven. It was the most beautiful feeling in his life...

Hours passed. Or so he thought. And he felt... new. Reborn. Purified at last. And strong. Very strong, almost invincible. Invincible, yes. It gave him an idea. A brilliant idea. Mum'd say it was mad, but she didn't know... anything. Suddenly determined, he got up, and slowly, step by step, came to the brim of the roof. He closed his eyes. He spread his hands. And then...

***

"Jacob? Are you up there again?"

Cold wet stairs. As if it was raining inside whole night. As if...

"Jacob, if you don't come down this moment, I'll...!"

Iron ladder hissed hatefully.

"Jacob? Jac - "

Open window. Brief moment of pure terror - what if... no - no - NO...

Hesitatingly she approached the brim of the room... and unwillingly looked down.

But he wasn't there.

He was nowhere. They were searching for him everywhere. Whole country did. And Interpol. Unsuccessfully.

He was gone.

['Ginnis]

A very interesting piece. I admired how you were able to capture Jabob's feelings about his situation in a way that didn't make the reader evoke immense pity for him but rather helped us to understand what he was feeling and why. Pardon me as I edit this...

"Fat drops of rain were hammering the window"
Use an active tense vice passive, more enthralling for the reader, which is important in an opening sentence.

"Unwillingly he opened the door"
Nebulous comma! Insert after Unwilling.

"He doesn't care about his stupid T-shirt. He doesn't need it, he doesn't want it, he refuses to wear it!"
Stick to past tense for better flow.

"in the mud, and jump on it,"
Insert "to" infront of jump for nicer flow. Ick second thought...it's decent the way it is but the change wouldn't hurt.

"He opened the window the window and crawled "
Delete one of "the window"'s, please.

"He pulled of his pajamas"
"Off" not of

Good work.

[Aiculik]

Thanks a lot!

I changed most of things, except the first sentence, it just doesn't sound good when I change it. And I'm not so sure about the sentendce I changed into the past tense either, doesn't it sound weird now?

[creativeminds]

Personly i think jacob needs some help * HELP IN ISLE FIVE HELP IN ILSE FIVE*

the story good, the ending though needs a little more, it was kinda all over the place.

[alloallo3]

I thought this was terrific. Your use of language is very creative -- and exciting.

Points:

There is a sudden shift in tone in the last few sentences. My guess is that you'd done your thing and wanted to move on. I wish I had something specific to offer by way of example, but I would rewrite it so it doesn't sound like you're slamming on the brakes.

The creative language makes this occasionally a little difficult to follow, primarily because I'm sometimes not sure if you're doing something stylistic or just making a small error. For example, the phrase "said calm quiet voice." If you mean "she said in a calm quiet voice," it should be written that way. But to personify, to say that "calm quiet voice" actually spoke, is really cool.

I wonder, too, how it would read if you rewrote the entire piece in the present tense. Might be an interesting experiment.

Here are a few suggestions, found in order in the story:

rip off his clothes (instead of cloth)
to let the rain hammer him (remove on)
He sighed (kill so instead,)
hero wants, isn't it? (instead of wanted)
really brave, Jacob. (put in comma)
And to jump on it. (add to)
How would it look if (delete like)
down his neck. (delete within few seconds)
Now, what would that feel like (change how to what)
drop out and fall... (change fell to fall)
shabbiest t-shirt (delete he found)
he was that fly (add that)

[Ambrose]

The story didn't amount to anything for me. I didn't get why Jacob was in the attic, why he wanted to clean himself off so badly, or why he hated the shirt his step father gave him. I'm guessing he simply he hated his step father but at the same time Jacob seemed a bit weird to begin with--I mean, who sits in the attic all day and watches the rain? All of the self-deprecating language that he uses makes be believe he's depressed which would explain why he thinks about jumping off the roof later on. I also kind of thought it had to do with him thinking his mother was dirty for going with another man that wasn't his father. Could be totally off on that one. Also the way Jacob reacts to everything seems a bit sporadic: at one point his face is screwed up in anger as he takes the shirt outside and then the next it's funny and then finally he gets a cold chill from realizing what he's just done. A cold chill from stomping on a shirt? I can see killing the neighbor's cat, but a shirt? That seemed a little played up. The ending was OK with Jacob finally escaping and all. But the beginning needs more character development.

[Aiculik]

Alloallo3: Thank you very much. I guess it's small part of "creative language" (at least that's wahat I wanted and tried) but also of bad English.
I meant "calm quiet voice" in Jacob's head.... it's not really "he", or "she".
I feel that the ending needs rewriting... but whatever I try, doesn't seem to fit...

Ambrose - well, yes. Jacob is depressed... but most people I showed this guessed that he is an abused child - by his father. And his mother obviously knows about it, but doesn't really help. That's why he was depressed, that's why he felt dirty, that's why he vented his anger and hate on poor innocent T-shirt. And that's why he was so afraid later.

Exactly how he was abused... that's up to you, a reader, to figure out. Some people said to me it must be sexual abuse, some thought "only" psichycal terror. Anything is fine with me.

[Zoidberg]

It seems sort of that Jacob isn't all there, ya know what I mean?

I didn't quite get the ending. I did like how you described Jacob's feelings. Pretty good story. Your descriptive writing is very good.

What happened in the ending? Jacob disappeared? I do almost feel bad for Jacob though.

The way you wrote was good; story was iffy.

[Themis Fallidas]

Well, i must say that your story is very interesting. It made me keep on reading because i wanted to know what will happen in the end. So what happened to our protagonist? I'm sure you know the answer, or you are thinking of one! Very well described character and i got a clear picture of his feelings and thoughts. You served that aspect of the story very well. In the end of the story there is a fire! A fire lightened by curiocity! Please, consider writing more! This story can't end like this!