Jinn, of the bottle

Chapter 4
Punishment & freedom

Chapter Description: More detail into Sam's life as he remembers what no else does about yesterday's events.

Sam awoke with a start, he was still on the floor as the sunlight poured through his open window, why it was open he didn’t know, he certainly didn’t remember opening it in the storm.

He still wore the clothes he had changed into the night before and being the scruffy boy he was, thought nothing about sulking downstairs without first changing or even washing.

He slowly dragged his chair from under the table, the noise was piercing and he enjoyed watching his sister wince at the noise every morning, today was no different but rather than look angry she grinned as if enjoying the moment.

A sharp slap landed to the back of his head causing him to yelp in pain, “Owwww, what was that for???” he cried, “YOU KNOW VERY WELL” screamed his mother as another blow landed across his head “YOU’VE BEEN SMOKING!!!!!”

His sister waved a crumpled packet of cigarettes around, “we found these in your room” Sal’s face was of pure pleasure, she loved to watch her little brother get in trouble, it was an addiction for her, it was almost too easy.

“But, but, they’re not mine, they’re, they’re hers!! I don’t smoke, honest” whined Sam.

“Stop lying twerp, we both smelt the smoke, and I smelt the perfume you used to cover it up…..and we both saw the burn marks in your room”

“Do you have any idea how much it will cost to have that repaired, do you realise what you could have done?” Screamed his mother.

“Mom, please, it wasn’t me, I don’t smoke, honest!!!” protested Sam to no avail.

“Really, then what about these” his mother held up the soggy clothes “you soaked them through to put out the fire didn’t you?”

“yeah, didn’t you” chimed Sal.

“No Mom, they’re wet because of the rain yesterday, you know the storm”

“What storm? What rain? What are you talking about Sam stop lying to me, we’ve caught you red handed and you are going to be punished, you’re grounded and you’re not eating any breakfast today. Now get back to your room, get ready for school and have a serious think about how you’ve been acting and the damage you’re causing to this family” His step-mother screeched at the boy as his head hung low another sharp blow landed to the back of his head.

He skulked upstairs to his room teary eyed and angry, rubbing the back of his head. his sister jeering him in the process calling him names such as “twerp” and “munchkin” whilst laughing at the sight of him.

He slammed his door shut hard, echoing his anger through out the house, he flailed violently beating his possessions, he had soft toys kept specially so that he could pull them apart limb by limb for these kind of moments.

His mother replied by rushing up the stair case screaming at him from the other side of the door for further damaging her house.

He sat with his back against the door cradling his throbbing head, he was fortunate that his thick, greasy hair had taken most out of her blows but the screaming was defeating him.

As his mother raged outside his door, he reminisced about the times they had before, how happy their family had been before it happened, before the war. The man in the picture looked like Sam, they shared the same hair, the same eyes and the same grin. He remembered how happy he was to have a brother and sister, the happiness to finally have a mother to call his own.

His father looked proud in this picture, he was serving his country, if only he knew back then that he wouldn’t be coming back, that his family would struggle on without him, and from his son’s perspective, how he would be rejected from the family without him.

His thoughts returned to the present, to his screaming step-mother outside his door, she’d taken it badly but was losing the battle with her out of control step son. He longed to be free, he was once the older of two siblings, yet here he was the youngest and the last of his family.

He had the smallest room, he wore hand me down clothes and was repeatedly tormented by his older siblings. His bedroom bore the scars of his anger, the wall was adorned with the marks of his fists.

His temper was fuming, his step mom had returned to the sofa downstairs as he wept behind his door. He clapped eyes on the bottle, the gift for his step mother, she who was making his life but a misery right now. “She doesn’t deserve anything” he whispered, in a burning feat of anger he tossed it out of the window shouting “the stupid whore.”

Once again the rushing footsteps of his step mother hurtled up the stair case, thinking better than to stay he grabbed his school bag and made for the window, climbing down the guttering he landed in the bush and made his way for the bus stop.