Behind the Pantomime

As the carriage travelled along the dirt path, bumping along against the rough earthen roads that lead slightly out of the way of town. A young boy, bounced away excitedly, eager for the experience that awaited him. So long had he begged his mama to bring him, and finally, she had heeded his request. It was to be a day of dream and delight, a long-awaited one, well needed by the Bouffónt family after the difficult few years they had endured. The red-headed child, peered out of the carriage window, his golden eyes wide with awe as it came into view. The bright lights, the animated crowds, the atmosphere that surrounded the behemoth-sized tent. The carriage would come to a stop, indicated that they were free to climb out. The boy would unstrap himself eagerly, hurrying out as quickly as he could. Running boisterously towards the Circus in his tan cargo shorts, matching braces and white shirt. A burgundy bow tie around his neck, and burgundy red shoes. One of his fanciest outfits picked out by his mother for a special occasion.

"Stay close Jesse!" His mother would call after him, her voice was tired, slightly strained. She would pay the driver, before following after him. Unlike her son, Linda Bouffónt did not share the same enthusiasm over their little trip. If anything, a dark cloud seemed to hang over the woman, her eyes carried heavy bags, her hair somewhat unruly, pulled back into a bun slightly too tight. Unlike her son, she wasn't nearly as well-dressed, she wore a black dress and black ballet shoes, with a grey mac jacket draped over her shoulders. She seemed almost demure in nature, one might assume she was always like this. But they would be wrong, for there was a time when the auburn-haired woman was a vibrant, confident individual; a social butterfly, well-known and well-liked. Yet much had changed as a late, even Jesse could see that his mother had retreated into a shell of sorts. But that was okay, even if she was a little quieter and less playful.


Linda would shuffle forward, catching up to her son just as they met the swarm that was the crowd. Placing her hand on his shoulder so as to not separate as they merged with the other patrons that were entering the tent. Ms Bouffónt reached into her handbag, preparing the tickets she had pre-paid for so that they could fast-track to their seats rather than wait to purchase on the door. It wasn't long after entering, that the two found their seats, Jesse shuffled to the edge of his chair. Leaning as far out as his mother would permit him, lost in immediate awe of the place. As the crowds finally settled into place, the lights would dim, quietened the hum of the audience as they watched with anticipation. A spotlight would appear, falling on a single fellow, and so the show would begin.

Jesse would barely blink as he watched, not wanting to miss a second of it. It was unlike anything he could have ever imagined, and his reactions were as fitting as the circus had intended them to be. He would laugh, he would gasp, he would clap profusely. All the while, his mother stared ahead, her face stoic, and her eyes empty. The show would reach another crescendo, and with the crowd Jester would jump up from his seat, applauding exuberantly, cheering and whistling excitedly. His heart racing from the experience, the euphoria, the energy. It was just so fun, by far the most enjoyable thing he'd ever experienced. He looked at his mother, his bright eyes gleaming happily, he was so grateful to her, for bringing them here. He went to hug her, but his smile would falter. As his golden eyes fell on her face, she looked cold, unresponsive. She did not welcome the hug, instead, she would reach for his wrist, standing herself, she would pull him from his seat.

"Mama?" He would ask, as she dragged him along, he didn't resist at first. But as her grip tightened around his wrist to an almost vicelike nature, he would begin to feel unsure. "Mama, you're hurting me!?" He said, offering resistance to her dragging him as she led him down the stairs of the audience seating area. She would reach the base, moving along the ring of the circus floor, he glanced around. Trying to figure out where she was taking him, perhaps this was a surprise, had she arranged for them to meet the performers one to one. That was an exciting prospect, yet it didn't explain why she was being so forceful about it. He resisted a little more, causing her to round on him. "Enough Jesse, come quietly or I will belt you in front of everyone here." He would stiffen slightly, realising how mad Mama really was. She rarely threatened him with the belt, that was Papa's thing. He quietly resigned himself, following her without further hesitation.

They moved into the backstage area of the Circus, meeting little resistance as they made their way through. They arrived at a trailer, Ms Bouffónt would knock briefly before turning to Jesse, "Wait here." Jesse would hesitate before nodding, watching as his mother would enter the trailer, shutting the door behind her. He pressed his ear against the door, trying to catch the conversation that ensued. He would hear his mother talking, and the clinking of jewels as they thudded on the table. After several minutes had passed, Jesse would hear their footsteps and move away from the trailer door. His mother would exit, followed by a man. He was very tall, taller than his father had been. Jesse would recognise his vibrant attire, his eyes growing wide with excitement as he realised he had come face to face with the ringmaster. He glanced between the man and his mother, the excitement quickly fading as he eyed her cold, broken gaze, immediately sensing something off.

His Mother would clear her throat, before addressing him in a serious tone. “Jesse, this is Mr Walden, he’ll be taking care of you. Be sure not to cause him any trouble.” Jesse blinked at her in confusion, unsure of what she meant. He would glance at the man, before looking back at his mother. As exciting as it was to meet the guy, what she had said didn’t make sense.

“But Mama, I already have you.” She would gulp, glancing to the ground. For a moment, she almost looked regretful, but that would fade, as her expression hardened once more. She returned her gaze to her son, continuing. “No, Jesse, Mama is going to go away, and Mr Walden will be in charge of you now.”  As the reality of what she was saying dawned, Jesse would shake his head.

“Mama, no, I don’t want you to go away. Please Mama, is it cause I was bad? Please, Mama, I’ll be good boy, I promise!” His voice would fill with panic and dread, he would step forward to embrace her, but she stepped back. Recoiling from his approach, the Ringmaster would place his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. Holding him in place and stopping him from approaching further.  Fear would begin to take over, the red-headed child face would contort into one of terror at the prospect of his mother abandonment settled in. “Mama, No please, I wanna go home with you. Mama!” She shook her head at him, her fists clenching in frustration.

“No, Jesse, you cannot. Mama can’t…Mama can’t do this anymore. I’ve had enough.” He voice would crack, as she said this. Her voice tinged layered with pain and fatigue. Like a woman who had simply endured too much, and could not long hold out under the strain. Broken. She pulled her gaze from him to the Ringmaster. “Goodbye, Mr Walden.”

“Thank you for your business, Ms Bouffónt, I assure you we’ll take excellent care of him” She nodded stiffly, taking a shaky breath, her eyes lowered to her son one last time.

“Goodbye, Jesse.” And that was it, no going back, not even an 'I love you', just a simple goodbye as she dragged her eyes from his. Eyes they shared, parting gazes once and for all. The boy's eyes widened further, fear and despair overwhelming him as he would watch his mother turn and walk away. Leaving him forever. He thrashed against the Ringmaster grasp, attempting desperately to escape his hold. Screaming after his mother, tears would begin to stream down his cheeks.

---

Devastation.

There was no better way to describe how Jesse felt as his mother's form disappeared from view, gone in a matter of moments. He struggled desperately under the man's grip, if he got away now he could catch up to her. If he ran fast enough, he could find her, convince her to change her mind, promise to be a good boy. She would forgive him, and they could go home, pretend this never happened. But the man's hands held him firmly, he heard words uttered to him, but they wouldn't sink it, he couldn't accept that this was his fate. His mother loved him, she wouldn't abandon him surely. He just couldn't understand what he'd done to deserve this, he knew there had been that but Mama knew that wasn't his fault, didn't she?

But the moments passed, and which each moment, the likelihood of him being able to reach her became slimmer. The fingers clinging tighter onto him pulling him close, the gentle brush of his lips grazed his lobe delicately, and soft words were whispered to him. Something about them caused the young boy to become still, there were not harsh or cruel words but there was something about them that caused the hairs on the back of the boy's neck to stand on end. He didn't struggle, an innate feeling inside him was telling him that if he did not settle himself, things would only be much, much worse.

So instead he just wept, eyes stinging as they streamed, snot running haphazardly. The young boy's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he found himself falling to the despair of his mother's grave betrayal. The moments that passed next were a blur for the young redhead, whether second passed or minutes, he couldn't tell. He felt like his world was falling apart and he was sinking into a daze. He couldn't imagine a worse moment to exist in, he felt numb, numb to everything but the pure relentless ache. He didn't notice when he was moved, steered by the man into the trailer. The door shut behind, as he continued to sob. He felt movement close in on him, suddenly the man who had restrained him was kneeling before him.

"Focus on your breathing, steady yourself." He instructed sharply, "Look at me." Jesse's golden eyes unblurred, focusing on the purple locked man in front of him. The man's yellow hues a reflection of his own, yet older and somewhat cold. There might have been an attempt at the portrayal of a sympathetic expression, but what Jesse saw was something else. Past that, to something darker, something more sinister in nature. The man would reach into his front pocket and pulled out a velvet burgundy handkerchief. "Breathe... Just breathe..." He whispered softly, Jesse tried, trying to follow the man's words, mostly because he had no other choice. What else could he do but listen to him? He was a lost chick without a mother hen. The ringmaster reached over with his handkerchief, wiping away the concoction of tears and phlegm that coated the boy's pitiful face. After the rough cleaning of Jesse's face, the handkerchief was folded up and tucked neatly away in the man's pocket once more.

There would be a moment where their eyes would meet, a silence filled the air, and Jester felt the urge to tremble once more. Then in the blink of an eye, the man stood, moving around the boy with Panthera-like grace. The air around the man shifted instantly, a warm smile painted onto his features, and in one fluid movement, he opened the door and descended on the onlookers. Jesse turned to face the door, following the man, because as unsure as he felt he didn't know what else to do.

Jesse's listened to his apparent introduction, he was calmer now, but this didn't change the misery he felt, the fear of not knowing what was going to happen next. There was also still the want he had to run to his mother, but it was beginning to sink in that she had not come back yet. She had left him, abandoned him, thrown him away like an old doll. What was that word he used? Family, the young boys eyes widened a fraction. Family...family... the word brought even more ache. Followed by the strained awkward silence that occurred as he was stared at by several pairs of boring and relentless eyes. His own eyes would draw downwards, staring at the stairs beneath him. His body trembling more and more with each passing second.

"What's your name?"

The voice was child-like, slightly girl-ish with a hint of friendly intrigue. He hesitated before looking up at her, she was a little younger than him. She was gazing at him with bright blue eyes, her expression one of pure adolescent curiosity. He stared back at her, his golden eyes tracing her face. The man addressed her as Vera Jayne, before attempting to tell her his name, only to be cut off by the child. Her voice sweet but by no means intimidated, there was no fear in her tone as she replied to her uncle. Jesse felt comforted by her actions, never had anyone wanted to know him, in fact, he couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked his name. His lips parted, he cleared his throat awkwardly, before attempting to answer her question.

"J-Jesse...Jesse Bou-"  His voice cracked, unable to finish the introduction, he glanced down once more.

---

The little girl's reiteration of his name would usher a rose-toned flush to his cheeks, embarrassed with his own inability to speak, but not so stirred that he could bring himself to correct her. The sentence that followed caused him to look up sharply, baffled by the adjective which she had chosen to describe his name. Cool? Never in his life had he ever used to word as a means to describe him, amongst the many terms that had been used, so little had been flattering in nature. His golden eyes for the briefest moments would flicker with something pleasant, and without a nod, to her question, he would nod. Haunting seemed like such a lonely venture, yet perhaps if there was company, it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe not forever, the boy still clinging to the hope of reuniting with his Mama as soon as he was able. A delusion beginning to form in the child's psyche, a hopeful dream, mechanically developing as a means to calm himself from the traumatic moment he had just endured. The theory that made the most sense to him. Mama just needed a holiday, yes that was it. This was just a travelling experience, and soon she would change her mind and return to collect him. Like a school trip, this wouldn't be forever.

So when the ringmaster spoke, Jesse did not heed his words, 'sacrifice', 'abandonment', there was inaccurate. They had to be, they were just saying them as a safety measure. Mama would be back. So he would say nothing, let them have their moment of pride and pity, it mattered not anymore. He didn't believe them anyway. Mr Walden would speak up, declaring that his name was unsuitable for his appearance, the boy's eyes would grow doe-eyed, unable to understand her meaning. How did his name not fit? It was his was it not? It was the one thing his Papa had given him, the only thing he had left. Panic settled into the child for the briefest of moments, wondering if he would not only be stripped of his mother's company but of his name too. The with satisfied exuberance she would offer an alternative, a play on the letters in his name. A nickname. It was this that brought the boy to finally find his words.

"J-Jester? Like a clown..." He said softly, he glanced to the hands, his scrawny fingers fiddling with the strap of one of his braces, a small smile would form on his lips as he contemplated it. "I... like clowns." He said in a tone of quiet approval. Jester, that would be his name for now, just until his Mama came back. He liked it, the earlier feelings of sadness simmering away somewhat. He looked up once more, his eyes seeking out the girl, a curiosity sinking in. He wanted to ask her for a name, something he could call her to remember her by. But in a sudden outburst from a green-haired boy, swept the girl up and with a flurry of harsh words to the girl would carry her away. Jester looked on as she proceeded to shriek curses at him, using such flamboyant language that another smile would sneak its way onto his lips. She was an interesting girl, and out of everyone that had stared upon him since his traumatic arrival, she had been the only one that had made him feel... acceptable. He watched her pinky wiggling in the distance and he felt a tingle of childish delight, already subtlely anticipation his next run-in with the intriguing purple-haired child.


Sweat dripped down the boys face, or rather up it. Although that was a matter of perspective, at the present his body was turned upside down in a rather precarious attempt at practising his balance. His arms shook under the strain at he tried desperately to hold the weight of his body,  he could hear berating comments being made over and over again. Comments about straightening his form and engaging his core. He was trying, boy was he trying, but the days since his arrival at the circus had been much more strenuous than he'd expected. To be useful here, he needed to be trained, they needed to find the right fit for him. But even before that, he needed to work on his basic skills. Stamina, agility, balance and most of all, by far his most lacking asset, his confidence. It had quickly become clear that he had little belief in his own capabilities, a rather sturdy blockage in his journey to progression. Every day he'd gotten up before the crack of dawn to begin training with the other inhabitants of Cirque de Rêves, working his muscles much more than he was used to. A painful concoction of cardio and strength-training necessary in order to aid his physical capabilities for working here. There was also training focused on honing specific skills although this was minimal right now, apparently, there wasn't a lot he was cleared to do until he became physically fit enough to handle such tasks.

This did not mean respite for the child, there were many laborious jobs to be handled around the circus and when he was training, eating or sleeping, there was always something else for him to do. Whether it was aiding in preparing meals for the entire crew, cleaning dishes and the camp itself, aiding with laundry or even fixing various features of the show. Although he quite enjoyed the latter, especially mending the costumes or helping create props. He had always had a deep fascination with making things, not to mention a genuine natural talent for it. One thing that had been acknowledged was how compliant the child once, not the least bit disobedient no matter how harsh. He quietly listened and attempted to do better. It soon becomes clear that he was what one might expect of a boy in the prepubescent stages of his development.

As he felt his balance sway slightly, he adjusted his arm in an attempt to straighten his body once more. This, however, turned out to be an error on his part, as this sudden movement caused his arm to slip and buckle, from which his entire form would collapse in a haphazard pile on the dirt floor. He let out no pain cry, something he never did when hurt. But he did lay crumple for a moment, somewhat winded from the floor. After a moment, he would push himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his slightly bruised arm. After all, this hadn't been his first tumble this week.

---

The voice that cried out to him rang like music to the boy's ears, melodic and sweet it sent an excited pang through the boys heart as the purplette child rushed over to him. He looked up at her, his expression one of awe he watched her bundle towards him, managing to land quite an impression of the good looking performer doing excessive push-ups. He flushed slightly as without hesitation she wrapped an arm around him to help him up. He nodded as he gave her tips, cementing her words into his brain as best he could. "H-Hi..." He replied softly, the greeting itself a struggle to release. His quiet nature had become quickly an anticipated quality of the boy. Albeit if there was someone who could coax words out of him, it was generally the young girl he'd become quite acquainted with since his arrival. Her pepper nature and curious quirks were something he always found comforting. Even know as she dusted herself with dirt from the floor for no reason, perhaps she wanted to match him? Although Jesse couldn't fathom why.

As she proceeded to before a much more impressive handstand than himself, he smiled softly at her. Amused by the sound of her strained tone, she was a funny girl, this one. He nodded keenly, bringing his hands together in a weak clap. Before lowering his hands quickly, it dawning on him that the clap might have been patronizing, the soft blush on his cheeks deepening with embarrassment. The question that followed threw him off balance, it was a simple question with no malevolence or motive behind it. But it brought a lot into question about his own state of being. On one hand, he missed his mother dearly, the bitter way in which they had parted plague his every waking thought. His golden eyes constantly flitting around the circus in hopes that she would round the corner, arms open to him, eyes filled with regret for her actions. He missed being at home, mostly he missed his bedroom. It had been his one safe space, the place where darkness could not touch him. Almost as though an invisible barrier kept it at bay, the tears of his mother and the hate of his father never crossing the threshold. Without that room to shut himself in, he felt constantly vulnerable.

On top of this, his illusion of the Circus, a place he'd once dreamed to venture, had undergone a great revelation to him. The work was near torturous, the adults weren't nearly as fun nor peppy behind the curtain and there was a feeling in the air he could not place. Sinister toxicity between the individuals that albeit being never addressed, lingered above them. He could feel it, in their interactions, as he watched one exchange after the other. They were about as stable as his parents had been in the later years of their marriage, which was troubled and painful to say the less. There were lies, deceiving, resentment and jealousy. He could feel it, a quiet beast that lurked in the shadows.

In spite of this, there were moments. Moments were the child found a unique peace, alongside a feeling that was utterly new to him. Despite the dark energies he feeling siphoning from the adults, there was something entirely different about being a part of the circus in comparison to his normal life. A change he had not anticipated; the feeling of belonging. Regardless of his traumatic assignment into their company, him joining had been quickly accepted. His odd behaviour that normally caused others to convulsed in disgust, was treated as normality. It didn't matter if you were odd here, because this was a home for oddities. A place they could inhabit without judgement or shunning. For once in his life, Jesse didn't feel ostracized for his quirks.

"S-Sometimes." He answered honestly, not wanted to lie to the girl. He knelt down beside her, drawing random symbols in the dirt with his finger. "Um, V-Ve...Ve.." He tried to say her name, but his anxious stutter was making it hard for him to get out. Instead, he moved on to his intended question, "Do y-you want to, um... run through some r-routines with...m-me?" The question was coy, laced with hesitation. Routines, in particular, were something the boy enjoyed immensely. It was one thing to practice moves individually, but it was much more thrilling to choreograph them into a dance. He'd seen the other doing in and he had hoped to try it for himself, preferably with the girl he'd hoped to get closer to.

---

Yeah he's coming for you, All the other kids with the pumped up kicks,
you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet
Jesse Bouffónt

The boy with blood orange locks and golden eyes would struggle to contain his anxious tremble as he awaited the small purplette's answer. Her heart raced eagerly in his chest and he felt a distinct fluttering in his stomach. He was hyper-aware that his palms with perspiring more than usual, secreting small droplets of ammonia, urea and salt. The child had never attempted to request something of this level of another child before, never having felt welcomed to. But Vera, the Waldens youngest, well she was different. Special. Her delicate features, those warm eyes and infectious smile. Somehow she both put him at ease and set him on edge at the same time. But not in a bad way, in fact, there was something strangely addictive about her presence. The kind of substance only a child could indulge in; finally, someone who wanted to befriend him.

It was wonderful.
It was terrifying.
All at once.

It was merely seconds that had passed but to him, it had felt like much longer. As she happily agreed, he would feel flooded with elation. The mere validation that she was willing, perhaps even eager, to spend time with him bringing an innocent joy to the boy. Despite his excitement, however, he would only offer her a small smile. A trained mechanic of his fathers, a man who was not fond of boisterous children. And without further ado, the pair would dive into their practice.

It was one of his most fruitful practices since joining the Circus, inspired even. For the first time since joining, Jesse would feel a slight sense of pride in his own work, every move delivered with even more vigorous direction than usual. Putting thought into every detail, and not permitting himself any slack. Details were important don't you know? Remembering to point your toes, extending your limbs, maintaining a consistent expression. Hours upon hours of lessons on the aesthetic of the physical form, and how even a slight grimace could ruin the entire image your performance was set to paint. There was no doubt, his attention to detail aided him, as did his ability to pick things up quickly. Like a sponge, he absorbed and absorbed and absorbed. And much to the disdain of some, he never seemed to leak. But he didn't care for those thoughts, he knew of them, he was young but not foolish. Their bodies emitted envy like a thick chemical aerosol, the toxicity of which you could taste on your tongue. But there were some smells you couldn't cover, no matter how much perfume you used. It didn't matter, any of it. It was mundane, for the boy was consumed with one hope alone.

The hope that Vera was impressed.


Night came, and the air was thick with more flavours, however not just with the tang of envy, but the scent of inebriation, the hot breaths of inter-circus relations and defiance amongst adults. The children, however, were far from the rambunctious engagements of the crew having secluded themselves in the privacy of a trailer. Jesse would glance back at Vera, giving no resistance to her soft shoves of guidance. "W-won't we get in trouble?" He countered weakly, his conscious pawing at him trying to reel him in. However, the truth was, he did want to sneak out with the girl, but the thought of a belt to his soft flesh made him hesitant. Even more so at the thought of coarse leather laying his painful bite not only onto him but on Vera's smooth skin also.

Alas, he conceded, unable to resist the idea of such freedoms. After the long gruelling hours of the day, the prospect of exploring the night by Vera's side was tantalizing. A forbidden fruit amongst childish whims. They would approach Sheba's cage, the coppery scent of blood reaching the boy's nose. Sign of the Tigress's own unpleasant relationship with Cirque Du Reves. He moved closer to the bars, closer than the adults would permit, but what did that matter? They weren't here. Golden irises would explore the marred flesh, and a new feeling would fill the boy. Strange and sinister, it percolated inside him, creeping closer to the surface for a mere moment. He turned his head to Vera as she spoke, his eyes alight with quiet anger, he would nod. "She doesn't belong in a cage." He responded, his words coated in mild vexation and pity for the creature.

---

Yeah he's coming for you, All the other kids with the pumped up kicks,
you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet
Jesse Bouffónt

The girl's words would surprise him, in truth he agreed, the excitement of misbehaviour was tantalizing. But the fear of punishment lingered, still a circus should have been a house of fun and it was - for the audience. So mayhaps, for once the children of the performing arts should be permitted a little enjoyment no? Was that too much to ask?

Jesse's thoughts came to a sudden halt as he felt Vera's cheek pressing against his, her lithe arms snaked around him in a soft embrace. Stiffening in shock, the entirety of his honey-hued irises exposed as his eyes widened to an extreme state. His heart pounding erratically as he stayed there within her playful hold. As she continued to plead with him, finally she would move away and much like a statue he remained frozen and unmoving. A moment of quiet passing before the boy could bring himself to speak. "O-o-o-ok-ke...k-ke... okay." He stuttered quietly, barely able to speak his submission. He was a stick of butter, and she had melted him into a puddle of incoherence and fluster.

Once his focus had shifted from Vera to the tiger, he was able to return himself to a calmer state. The mixed feelings whizzing around in the pits of his stomach fluttering away, replaced by dark anguish over the feline's state of existence. Sheba would notice them, her response to the children was vastly different from that of hers towards the adult humans. The adults of the species she despised but there was a kindred understanding of the younglings that she seemed to possess. That in a way, they were just as caged as her. Trapped behind the bars of the Circus prison that was their life.  

Vera spoke once more, responding to his comment with words he wasn't expecting. When they were older... He repeated in his mind, eyes turning towards the girl, his expression more contemplative. "Sheba..." He called firmly, his voice steadier than it's usual uncertainness. More assertive. The feline paused in her pacing, her feline stare gliding toward him. He stretched forward, squeezing his arm between the cage bars, reaching out to her with his palm facing the sky. "Come." He spoke again, with the voice of a boy not sticking his arm into the home of a man-eating beast, but stating a request to a dear friend. She would pace once more, her body turning as she pawed towards him. Even at her age, her size for a tigress was still tremendous enough to loom over the children. His gaze remained on hers, connected and unwavering. His entire hand could easily fit inside the entirety of her powerful jaws, with a swift bite she could tear off his entire forearm. They both knew this, understood it. "Do you hear that? One day we'll all be free. When that day comes, will you eat whoever harms us Sheba?" There was no playful jest to his question, he meant every word.

The feline would let out another growl, short and breathy, much like a scoff of disbelief. Before pacing away from the children once more, following which, Jesse retracted his arm from the cage's depths. The future wasn't something the boy dreamt about often, finding it easier to take each day as it came. A future together, as adults, completely free from burden. Now wouldn't that be something? He squeezed his eyes shut, he didn't want to think on it, to tempt fate's devilish hand with such hope. Hope always meant hurt. His eyes popped open and he turned his gaze to Vera, his normally shy eyes looking at her with more serious intent.

"You're not allowed to die Pebble, I won't allow it." He told her firmly, after a moment he realised how strange he must seem, speaking in such a cool way. As it dawned on him, his cheeks flushed slightly and he glanced away. "I...I mean... I'll protect you and ... wherever you go. I'll follow you know... c-cause we're..." He trailed off, could he say it? The f-word. It felt like bad luck to utter such a dream from his lips.

---

Yeah he's coming for you, All the other kids with the pumped up kicks,
you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet
Jesse Bouffónt

Jesse's eyes widened in surprise as she scolded him for his behaviour, of course she had scared her. No normal person could stick their arm in a tiger's cage without fear of having it torn off, then again Jesse had never been normal had he? He considered how he might explain himself, how somehow he knew that Sheba wouldn't have hurt him. It seemed like a non-sensical arguement to make and one he would not win, so he resigned, looking down and uttering a soft 'sorry' to the purplette. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Vera, anything but that.

As his promise to protect her faded off, unable to finish the sentence over his exuberant fluttering. She would aid him with by offering one of her usually quirky response, Jesse's looked away, almost as though he was sharing a warm smile with the floor. "Y-yeah... meat-bags." He uttered back to her. She would continue own, unlike him, being brave enough to use to f-word as he had been too shy to do. His eyes raised to hers, honey-coloured orbs wide with awe and relief. So she thought it too, they were friends. The word spread a strange warmth through the child, it felt taboo and exhilirating. He wanted to paint a picture with the word scrawled a thousand times. To sing it so loudly that even the runts back in Minstrel who had hated him would here. Jesse Bouffónt had a friend. An actual friend.

Her addition of the word 'very' and 'best' would only elate the boy further, so that his face stretched wide with a rare smile. His face, usually so sunken and stoic, lit up with the radiance of a child at christmas, a beautiful row of teeth and eyes alight with merry. He would watch as she moved away, his palm missing the feel of her hands in his. She would ask in return if he was her friend, to which his cheeks would flush beetroot. "Uh huh." He answered quietly, before wandering over to her. He would watch her skip the rock, "Y-your my... first and only f-frie-" His words cut short by the sound of the stone hitting an animal. Jesse ran over to the creature, picking it up tentatively and examining it. "I think so," Jesse answer, peering into the gap where the turtle had hidden it's head. He wasn't actually sure, but he figured that saying anything other than this would only upset the girl.

Jesse would return his gaze from the reptile to Vera, confirming his suspicious by witnessing the  guilt written on her face. This he couldn't fully understand, it was an accident. And it wasn't like it was a person, it was just a random animal. He would put it down, carefully placing it back into the water. "Let's go back," He told her, figuring that they had risked being away for long enough. The longer they stayed out, the more risk they had of being caught. And being caught, meant being beaten.

---

Yeah he's coming for you, All the other kids with the pumped up kicks,
you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet
Jesse Bouffónt

As time passed, Jesse was mildly aware of that change he was undergoing. Those once innocence golden orbs that looked at a purple headed girl with hope for a happy ever after grew duller each day. But still, hope he clung to. Hope in the shapes he so heavily fantasised about, daydreams about various scenarios. Escaping with pebbles, going to fun places with her, taking her to meet his Mama. His mama forgiving him and taking them both in, sitting at the dinner table giggling over some cartoon they were watching. All would be well and it was bliss.

But the daydreams could only do so much, coupled with the fleeting moments he shared with the girl, they did their part. But even they could no shield a young boys mind from the ever growing darkness that sought to claim him. His hate.

She was the only good one, the rest could die. Sometimes he dreamt about that too, but he didn't tell Vera about those daydreams. He couldn't.

All he had wanted was another moment with her, to steal a moment by the lake. Some time away from the angry scaldings and the unpleasantries. But luck had not been on the side of the children tonight, as displayed by the cold words of the ringmaster that echoed through the dark night.

Jesse stayed silent, watching in restrained horror as the adults approached them. His words like the soft flicker of a lighters flame being ran across your skin. Watching as he knelt down before him, those devil eyes causing the child to tremble silently. Never in his life had he carried a greater fear for a man, not even at the sight of his other father laying hands on his mother or him for that matter. Because even James Bouffant, as firm as his touch was, was different. Painful but full of anger. Percivals touch was ... something else. Something far more sinister, far more taboo. And the more the young boy endured, the more his own fear grew. Fear that fueled his hate.

The fortune teller was doing the telling off, but Jesse could not hear her. His attention was locked on Percival, watching him warily. Percival was fast, like a cobra, he struck and when he struck - he broke. Jester felt relief when the man stood once more, leading the way home. Jesse shot Vera a quiet look, apology in his eyes. He should have got them back sooner, found a way for them not to get caught. It was his fault, at least that was how he saw it. No matter where she led him, Jesse never blamed Vera.

He followed along, stiffening at the feel of Percival's hand on his back. Chills running through the child's body, silent tears welled in the eyes of the boy. I hate him. Hate. Hate. Hate him. He thought. His words, like venom, oozed under the child's skin, his mouth opened but no words left him. As the sound of the slap would cause Jesse to whip his head round, frantically attempting to turn only to be stopped by the man's grip on his shirt.

He tried to look at her, to see what was happening, he could hear it. Her suffering. He tugged harder, wanting to get to her. The tears would free themselves as the child whimpered desperately, "Please... d-don't hurt her. It was me, all me. I snuck out. I am bad, punish me. P-please." He begged through his sobs, pulling harder against the mans grip. Wishing that this was a dream, and that any moment he would be waking up.  Yet hope as he might, he wouldn't.

Because this was a nightmare from which he wouldn't wake.

---