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Jimmy didn’t know how he felt about fireworks. They were bright, loud, and colourful: everything a kid should adore - if not at least, enjoy - yet he never found the slightest bit of happiness when watching them.
Or no, that wasn’t completely true: he did see wonder during these obnoxious and self-aggrandizing celebrations. He obsessively watched the way the dolled up gunpowder sparkled in the eyes of those around him - maliciously enticing him to reach out and grab some of that radiant life for himself.
Would it be cruel of him to take just a little bit from someone else? If he could genuinely siphon a person’s happiness and soak in it, could anyone actually blame him? After all, if it wasn’t for their incompetence and insistence on turning a blind eye, he wouldn’t need to steal from others.
The thought tasted vile on his tongue. It felt like a disease festering in his stomach.
No, if he were to start leeching off of others, then he’d be no better than his monster of a father.
Jimmy turned his attention back to the undisturbed night-sky. The show hadn’t started just yet; why would it, when he and his family always had to arrive hours ahead of everyone else?
The wonderful perks of being the parasitic mayor’s son. At least now, the canvas above had darkened to a cool, navy blue. It looked like an ocean of stars that Jim had wanted nothing more than to be swallowed by. If he could steal happiness from another human being, then surely the sky could devour him.
But he couldn’t do that. Not only was it physically impossible, the thought to try it (no matter how persistent) made him sick to his stomach.
That peaceful world looming just out of reach wouldn’t be saving him. Nothing would ever save him.
No one-
“Mind if I join you?”
Jimmy furrowed his brows as his mind recalibrated. Right, he wasn’t completely alone. He had a best friend who, if he didn’t know any better, was the reincarnation of a golden retriever. He even had wispy blond hair and bright blue eyes. The only thing Curly didn’t have was a tail.
That was probably for the best, seeing as if he did have one of those, he’d mercilessly beat Jim with his excessive enthusiasm - with enthusiasm that Jimmy struggled not to envy at times.
Rather than look at the friend who was patiently waiting for an answer, Jim gripped the chains of his swing and walked himself back until only the toes of his scuffed sneakers were touching the stupid-ass woodchips. Once he was as high up as he could get while still being somewhat grounded, he lightly scoffed, “Mind if I join you? What are you? A middle-aged man?”
With the completely necessary diss thrown at Curly, he kicked himself back and into a regulated free fall. Reflexively, Jimmy tightened his grip on the chains, leaned back in his uncomfortable seat, then kicked forward for maximum air and velocity. It was just a swing set for kids so it wasn’t exactly much, but the cool night air rushing through his hair felt like a torrent of freedom. It was something he hoped to never get tired of.
“Coming from the guy who said, and I quote, ‘Had you not known?’ when he was binging the Lord of the Rings books?”
The horrifically effective rebuttal stalled Jim’s attempts at gaining any further speed or height. It felt like the time he’d kicked a soccer ball at Curly’s bike, accidentally causing his friend to fly off the damn thing. How was he supposed to know it would get jammed between the front tire and the gear-thing the pedals turned? It sure as hell wouldn’t have gone that perfectly had he tried to do that.
Since his mind was trying to recover from that absolutely brutal burn, Jimmy didn’t pump his legs to keep his momentum going; instead, he allowed them to fall limp. Not having had the time to properly get going, it didn’t take his swing long to stabilize, leaving him to sadly sway back and forth like the defeated loser he was. He hadn’t even bothered to sit back up, genuinely preferring to lean back with his growing locks hovering just above the ground.
He stared up at Curly, searching for any sign of remorse. The only thing on his cheery face was the unmistakable look of smug satisfaction. Jim’s heart skipped a beat at the way it was directed at him and solely him (even if it was crafted mostly of arrogance).
“Yeah, yeah alright,” the surly teen scowled, though he couldn’t quite keep the smile from infecting his sour visage. Curly was the only one who could make Jim look even remotely like a normal kid.
Or no, that wasn’t true either: their English teacher, Ms. Sudol, also managed to make him smile. Her and Curly were the only ones who didn’t treat him like some hopeless troublemaker. She was the one who loaned him the Lord of the Rings trilogy that Curly so cruelly made fun of him over. Along with that, she was the one who’d gifted him the Amethyst pendant that was currently trying to slip from around his neck.
It must’ve crept up from beneath his shirts when he decided to “defy” gravity. Aside from checking to make sure it wasn’t actively fleeing his person, Jim didn’t bother concealing it again. It wasn’t like Curly was going to make fun of him for having some voodoo shit; besides, it needed moonlight to recharge and actually work.
Jimmy watched Curly take the swing next to him. As if to sync up perfectly with his more superstitious friend, Curly tightened his grip on his own chains and fell backward. With the blood creeping casually toward their heads, the friends stared at one another, listening only to the creaking of their respective swings.
It was nice, and had he not been wearing pseudo magic jewelry around his neck, Jim might’ve considered himself stupid for holding his breath. If he didn’t breathe, then maybe this scene could continue just a bit longer.
For just a bit longer, maybe he could feel safe and at peace.
“Not gonna go by everyone else?” Curly asked, because of course he did. Having even the briefest escape from reality wasn’t allowed apparently.
Jim’s smile faded at the dreadful reminder, and with it, Curly’s own disappeared. He wanted to hit himself, or maybe Curly, for ruining their good time.
He didn’t though. He didn’t even allow the venom to be released in any manner. How could he when the thin, silver chain his charm was bound to lightly dug into the skin of his neck, as if broadcasting its presence to him.
Desperate to regain control of himself, Jimmy let go of one of the chains keeping him upright and grabbed for the jagged chunk of Amethyst. He tightened his grip around it, allowing the sharper portions to jab into his palm and fingers. Maybe if it was closer to him, it would work better.
The pendant could only do so much on its own, that was what Ms. Sudol had told him. He followed her instructions in squeezing his eyes shut and taking in the crisp, night air as though it truly belonged within him. Without actively meaning to, he fell back and kicked his legs to sluggishly jumpstart his momentum again.
It wasn’t much, but between the soft sway of his swing and the air easing into and against his body, he felt like he really was being devoured by the sky. The gentle creak of rusting metal could easily be mistaken for the giant beast’s boisterous hunger too.
Who knew that would actually be so pleasant.
Really, he could swing for the rest of his life and he’d never regret even a second of it.
. . . He guessed Curly was waiting on him though. He couldn’t be that selfish, could he? Maybe when he was on his own, he could dive back into that beautiful abyss.
Jimmy opened his eyes to find his beloved companion stationed in the same spot, with his vibrant blue gaze still on him. He hadn’t even begun swinging out of impatience; he’d just been waiting for Jim to untangle his unruly emotions.
And Curly meant the world to him for that.
“Feeling better?” Asked his wonderfully perceptive friend and Jimmy was allowed to breathe his anxieties out.
He nodded, though failed to let go of his good luck charm. He didn’t even loosen his hold on it for fear that this clarity would fade the moment he did. “I’m fine,” Jim insisted more to himself than to Curly.
His companion pointedly looked toward the growing crowd. With their overly lounged positions, they had a perfect view of the festivities' progression; of course they did though, Jimmy had put his back to them on purpose. That meant he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be taking them in now.
“Do I have to?” Jim whined more petulantly than he would’ve liked. His issues with the rest of the townsfolk weren’t some petty grudge after all. He didn’t hate them for not allowing him to rob them or break their windows. He’d never even done those things, yet he had a reputation for it that followed him as closely and persistently as his shadow.
“It might help your case if you show them you’re not a delinquent.”
As if to further verify the townspeople’s idea of him, the “delinquent” groaned with exhausted displeasure. He leaned back even further in his poor-excuse of a seat until gravity took the reins. Jimmy didn’t bother fighting it, instead, he let himself be dragged down and off of his swing.
His fall wasn’t anything spectacular: it wasn’t fast, nor was it painful. He felt more like a worm or a slug slipping off of a window’s ledge - or maybe the top of a baseboard to the floor seeing as it wasn’t that high.
“Yeah, you do look like you’re about to steal my lunch money,” Curly snorted. In an attempt to maintain (or rather, regain ) his excessively nice and polite standing, he covered his poorly restrained, and quite frankly, quivering smirk with one of his hands. Considering mischievous chuckles kept breaking through all of his man-made walls, he was doing a terrible job at looking even remotely saint-like.
Could Jim even blame him though? It wasn’t as though he looked like the epitome of devilry. He wasn’t actually sure how he looked, but seeing as his legs were still draped over the swing’s seat while the rest of him was laid out against the godawfully uncomfortable woodchips, he probably didn’t look all that menacing.
“You mean you can’t see me holding you at gunpoint and demanding your milk money?” The melted teen mused back. Clearly, he was similarly susceptible to errant laughter breaking free of him.
Even better, his lighthearted rebuttal allowed Curly’s pent up glee to erupt from him like the world’s most cheerful geyser. Jim almost wished he could see his friend’s exuberance. He bet it’d rival any kind of firework show no matter how pricey or gaudy the spectacle was made to be.
“Not unless you use a book - even then, you hate when people just fold the corners of pages.”
Jimmy’s free hand shot up to point accusingly at the dark sky. “It creases the pages!” He declared with a small pump of his arm, as if he was expelling more righteous energy against those who would do books harm. “Just use a bookmark!”
“Not everyone collects bookmarks like you, y’know.” There the guy went again, hiding his barely stifled joy behind his hand.
“You only need one! And it’s not a hard concept to just switch it out!” That’s what he did despite having a metric-fuckton of them. He just picked whichever bookmark fit his mood that day. Sometimes, he even swapped the marker out with a different one if he felt the need to.
It wasn’t hard! And they weren’t even expensive! Someone could use a torn piece of paper for all he cared!
. . . As long as that piece didn’t come from a book itself, which he has had the misfortune of finding before.
“You could always show this side of you to everyone,” Curly remarked. He gripped the other side of his swing and finally began using it the way it was intended: he kicked his legs forward while leaning himself back into the rushing wind. The squeaking of the hinges loudly beckoned for Jim to join his friend - he tried to ignore how much it sounded like gloating in his mind.
Rather than accept that mocking invitation, Jimmy lowered his hand and craned his neck, forcing the horrid substitute for sand to dig into the back of his skull. He’d have to pry woodchips out of his hair later; it wouldn’t be the first time, and at least it wasn’t gum this time.
He watched the townsfolk mingle pleasantly with one another. They really did look like a tight knit community. Just one he wasn’t ever allowed to be a part of. One would think he’d be in the center given his dad’s position in the town, but his father was a greedy and selfish man. He couldn’t stand to share the limelight so he cruelly threw his son out of the warm bubble.
No. Even that was too generous; after all, his dad didn’t even see him as a human being. Jim and his mom were nothing more than props to be paraded around and used by that detestable monster. They were as perfect as scapegoats as they were dolls to play with and break.
Did he even want to be included in a society like that? The pitiful burning in his gut said that yes, yes he did.
Jimmy sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath that similarly felt like it wanted nothing more than to see or cause his demise. He barely registered how those breaths continued on like pants from a beaten dog, or how hot tears welled in his eyes with the intent of blinding him. He just wanted to be accepted. To be loved. Was that really so much to ask for?
“Hey, hey, hey!” Curly cried out.
Jim was dimly aware of the scraping of shoes against wood as his friend frantically skidded to a stop. He was far more conscious of Curly kneeling by his side, hunched over him as though Jimmy was suffocating on his isolated grief.
Wasn’t he though?
Curly’s radiance blurred behind his veil of tears. Try as his body might to distort and banish his friend though, Jim could still see him. He blindly held his free hand out while the other once again gripped the purple rock around his neck. Even if it punctured his skin, he wouldn’t have cared - all he cared for was having his best friend by his side.
And that friend didn’t disappoint: he grabbed ahold of Jim’s offered hand and clutched it with a tentative but determined grip. Maybe Jimmy wasn’t the only one who feared the sudden loss of the other.
The sudden loss of their other half.
He returned the tight hold for that very reason. Call him selfish. Call him awful. Call him every dreadful thing under the sun. He wouldn’t ever be letting his best friend go though.
Curly didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer any reassurances or pretty lies, he simply sat by Jim’s side and gave himself to him while Jim cried for what felt like the millionth time. It would’ve been pathetic had it not felt so good to let loose those crushing and tumultuous feelings.
He didn’t bother wiping the tears from his face, it wouldn’t have done anything but caused splinters to burrow into his more vulnerable parts anyway. And while that could’ve provided him a good excuse for why he’d return to everyone looking like an emotional disaster, he really didn’t want to cause himself that sort of pain.
Without decent vision though, Jimmy failed to see the first of the fireworks launch into the air. He heard them (obviously), but the most he saw was a kaleidoscope of watercolours splashing themselves against the beautiful, dark canvas above.
He uncurled his fingers from their death grip around Curly’s and pushed their semi-joined hands up and toward the majesty exploding just out of reach.
“I bet that’s what you look like inside,” Jim murmured as a bittersweet smile crept its way along his disgustingly messy visage.