Short Story: The Blessing Of Hot Food

 eeyerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg. I'll soon be running out of stories-in-waiting. Actually, wait, nope, I've completely run out of stories-in-waiting, so from now on all stories will be totally recent. As far as I can tell.

I made this a while ago, and I think I've grown as a writer since then. I like the tone, but I think the details and setting could have been a bit better. Anyway, enjoy!


The Blessing Of Hot Food



Jimmy was standing stiffly in his poor, small backyard, not looking at the gnarled tree or the birds in the sky or the neighbor's blue window shutters. He focused on the horizon and the gentle breeze, trying with all his might to keep his emotions under control, and trying not to hear what it was that his mother and the car driver were saying at the front of the house.

His best friend had just died.

George had been run over. He had ran out into the road without looking and had been hit, bang, smash, splat. Jimmy had screamed and sobbed loudly until his mother had to pull him away and tell him to go into the backyard to calm down. No comfort or consolidation. The man who had driven the car may have apologized as the boy was hauled away, but Jimmy didn't hear. Nothing could register in his thoughts except the image of George's crooked body, his chest shuddering through their last cold breaths.

Focusing on the horizon didn't help, for Jimmy could still hear plainly what his mother was saying to the driver. A tear rolled down Jimmy's cheek and his jaw shook. Quickly he fled toward his house, and as his feet pounded he failed to keep her voice from entering his ears.

'You'll have to forgive him, I'm afraid. Jimmy's become awfully attached to his friend, poor dear. I've told him to go out and get some better friends, but he won't listen. He's always going and getting upset at little things... what a simple child."

Jimmy ran up the stairs of his cramped house, letting his muddy feet make probable marks on the threadbare carpet. He opened and slammed the door of his room behind him; then stood there awkwardly with heaving breaths.

Everything was ruined now. Jimmy and George were going to be pals forever. Nothing would separate them. But now something had, and it would be impossible for Jimmy to keep going, to have the strength to live.
Jimmy was, generally, hungry. It was true that he had not had a good square meal in about three days. His mother had a full time job as a house-cleaner and was paid less than minimum wage, which wasn't a whole lot to support Jimmy and his two younger siblings. The access furniture had already been sold, along with Jimmy's books and the semi-valuable heirlooms that his mother had been given when she married. She even had to sell her wedding ring, but explained to Jimmy that it was alright because Daddy isn't here anymore and sure as hell isn't going to be coming back from the brothel.

Jimmy was always hungry. His dirty shirt hung loosely about his rib-cage, and his cheekbones and collarbones had begun to show themselves more. Now his eyes brimmed and his cheeks burned. There was a lump in Jimmy's throat, but he couldn't swallow and gobble it down, and even if he could he would have thrown it up with the way his stomach was churning with shock and despair.

Jimmy collapsed on his bed and buried his tear-stained face in the thin pillow. He cried for a very long time and then fell asleep when his eyes ran out of tears.

About four hours had passed when Jimmy's mother said something and shook him awake, an apron tied around her gangling neck and waist. She did not try to be gentle or sit on the edge of his bed, but she waited until Jimmy stirred and rubbed his eyes before repeating herself, now that he was awake and listening to her.
"Jim, it's time to get up, dear. I've got supper ready. Come down and eat it while it's nice and hot."

Jimmy was confused after sleeping in the middle of the day, but he decided it must have been around the time when dinner should be eaten, because it was darker than it had been when-

He suddenly remembered the accident, forced a sob down, and tried to think about other things. Like dinner, for instance.

He hadn't had many proper dinner-times; they were all small and quick with no eye contact, because if there was, it would only spread feelings of hopelessness and make Mother feel guilty that she hadn't done enough for her family. Jimmy wondered briefly what it was that was ready downstairs. Having to make do with very little, there wasn't much that dinner could have been. Jimmy did not imagine an extravagant meal of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy. If there ever were such a meal, it would be a dream, and Jimmy would eat to his heart's content only to wake up with his stomach aching even more from the hopeful longing that it may have been real. However, his mother's words of hot food was better than nothing, and if it was hot then it would taste better and be more satisfying.

So Jimmy floated down the stairs, wiping the dried tears from his eyes. In the dining/living room, his younger sister was seated opposite the chair that he usually sat, right next to the stair landing. Her thin blonde hair was tied prettily into pigtails and she kept her head down to get as much stew in her mouth as was possible. She didn't even look up as Jimmy came down, but kept spooning soup up as fast as she could. His little brother was nowhere to be seen.

Mother was there in her apron once again, and this time she smiled and handed Jimmy a heaping wooden bowl of hot soup. He looked down, and although his plan was to examine it, he could not help but close his eyes and draw in the most delicious smell. The long-forgotten smile on his face was so large that he thought for a moment he thought his face would split with pleasure and gratitude. He loved soup, and this batch was warm, comforting, and steamy. He carried the bowl carefully to his chair, sat down, and propped up his knees a bit so that he could set the bowl down on his lap without it being too far away. After all, they had no table. Jimmy's mother smiled at him and graciously handed him the cheap plastic spoon that had been deemed his for the last few years. Jimmy took the spoon, smiling back at his mother. He looked down pleasantly at the bowl and smacked his lips. It had a yellowish broth, and it was thin, but it also had chunks of white meat, probably chicken; along with carrot and celery. He dipped his spoon in the soup and began to eat.

The soup itself was very tasty. It was fresh, too, and that added to its flavor. It was warm and oily from the chicken meat, steamy, and the vegetables were so hot and filled with broth that they just fell apart in your mouth.

"Mother?" Jimmy asked, when he was about halfway done with his soup. "I don't remember you buying chicken."

Mother was silent, and continued to stir the rest of the soup in the large metal pot on the stove.

She then answered, "Of course I did, Jim dear, you must pay more attention."

They were both silent. Jimmy's sister had finished cramming the soup into her mouth, but she was still and quiet, looking almost fearfully at her mother. Although she probably wanted another bowl, she did not dare break the silence.

Jimmy looked mournfully into the remainder of his soup. He began to sob quietly.

Mother rolled her eyes and threw the spoon from her hand into the soup pot. "Alright, will you cut it out?! Eat your soup!" she yelled, with more annoyance in her voice than was necessary.

This, however, did not help, and Jimmy continued to flavor his soup with his tears.

"Look, Jim." Mother said sternly. "I know you're upset. But George is gone now, and he's not coming back."
Jimmy's face was contorted once again in a wet, red agony. He could not help but think of George again. He knew that he should put it behind him, but he couldn't help thinking of how gentle George had been and how impossibly soft his furry black and white coat had been. He would close his black rabbit eyes in pleasure whenever Jimmy stroked his soft, downy ears. George had been the perfect pet rabbit, and he had been Jimmy's best and only friend.

Jimmy began to cry louder.

"Just forget it!" Mother yelled again, as Jimmy choked and hiccuped on his sobbing.

Jimmy wanted to eat the rest of his soup, he really did, he was so hungry; and although now he did not want to, he began to think about how his mother hadn't gone shopping recently or how he didn't see her bring the chicken home.

Mother was very impatient now, but she knew that there was nothing she could say that would make him stop. Instead, she stared intently at Jimmy with her thin arms folded across her chest. "Well?" she asked sternly. "Have you decided to finish eating your soup as you were told?"

Jimmy slowly raised his bloodshot eyes to hers. Tears were streaming down his face, and his mouth was working silently against the tear-logged syllables. "You..." he squeaked out. "You... how could you..."
"Do you think I'm just going to let this family starve?" Mother said. "Do you think I'm just going to bury your stupid pet rabbit because it never did anything to support you or your siblings? You'll eat your soup because I told you to, and you're going to enjoy it!" She paused, eyes flashing, anger and frustration in her head, then quieter; gentler now, "It was just a rabbit. Let it go. It will do far more good in your stomach than it ever did in your heart. You don't want to starve, do you? So- just- " She trailed off, not knowing what to say.
Jimmy opened his mouth, and with trembling hot breaths said, "I hate you."

Mother answered passive-aggressively, "I'm sure your sister would like to have the soup I made for you."
Mother turned back to stirring the soup, and whispered quietly to herself so that her children couldn't hear, "Yes, there'll be rabbit soup for a few days, but what then? You can't fight hunger with just a small pot of soup, and meals don't just fall from the skies... God knows how I support my children but I can't pay for food anymore..."

Jimmy shyly looked up at his sister. They exchanged looks of understanding; his sister knew how bad this was getting for Jimmy, and that she could really do nothing to help. She reached across the table and grabbed the sides of the bowl, setting it on her lap. Jimmy stared dumbly at his sister as she ate his soup.
Most of all, Jimmy just wanted to leave. He slid off his chair and away from the monster in the kitchen that was stirring the soup pot of murder. Their house was small, but there was one room that he could go in that was downstairs, and that was his brother's room.

Jimmy found his 1-year-old baby brother sitting on the carpet and playing with the cat. It was technically his sister's cat, but the whole family enjoyed its presence. It was honey-colored, and very patient, shown when the baby made a large show of kissing the cat on its back, then hugging it roughly. The cat didn't hiss or spit, it was quite tolerant of being showered with love from one who did not quite understand the proper techniques of cat-greeting. Jimmy smiled lovingly at his brother, who looked over his shoulder at Jimmy and smiled a large, half-toothed smile.

"Jimmy?" his mother called. "Where are you? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, mother." he called back, and although he was still angry, he walked back along the hall to the kitchen so that he didn't have to shout. "'Bastian's just playing with Molly."

Mother turned halfway. Her eyes glinted.

"Mother?" Jimmy asked.

Mother mumbled to herself. "God knows..." she whispered. She shook herself a little, then turned to her daughter and asked, "Honey, Molly's getting kind of old, isn't she?"

Jim's sister did not answer.

"She's getting old, you know. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't live for much longer." Mother smiled sympathetically at her daughter, then turned back to her soup.





Well, that's it, thanks for reading!
Your sadistic friend,
Layla