Jack and Libby

“Close your eyes, Libby. This won’t be pretty.” Jack spits as he turns his sister away from the gruesome mess at her feet. Libby rolls her eyes at him but obeys. It’s easier to go along with his wishes than argue, so most of the time she allows him his way. “Libby, hurry up and move” He gently shoves her out of the way and gets to work with his knife. Jack is a boy of twelve but has always watched over his older sister. Ever since he could talk, he was telling people to stay away from her. The nine years between them meant that when he was small, Libby was his protector. But as he got older, he realized she was different. And anyone coming near her was enough to start a fight. It also meant that Libby had to put up with a fair amount of his mouth. Like now, for instance.


Libby’s life had been odd, so Jack was right to be protective. She was different, she realized. She was frail and sick most of the time. And her mind was unwell. But she was still the older sibling. And in this chaos, she thought it was unfair that their survival was resting on Jack’s tiny shoulders. He was capable of almost anything, but he was going to need to rely more on her if they were going to live. Jack and Libby both had IQ’s that scored off the charts. This meant that they communicated like equals despite their age gap. It also meant that each of them had a set of fairly odd behavioral issues. While Libby was emotional and childish, Jack was angry and protective. Jack also had a tendency to blow things out of proportion. Even though Libby’s medication had run out weeks ago, she could still clearly see that working together was the only way to get through this nightmare.

She took a quick look at the shape that lay at Jack’s feet and suppressed a shudder. It smelled like a hamburger that had been in the hot Texas sun for three days. As Jack worked, she watched limbs being sawed from the torso. The look on Jack’s face was one of satisfaction. This might have been alarming to Libby, had she not known him so well. But Jack was strange and he had always had a taste for the macabre. Libby looks closer at the creature’s face and realized with horror that it’s black eyes were fixed on her. She knew it was dead, but the sight was still unsettling. Flesh hung in sheets from its scalp revealing muscle and bone. Jack began to saw at the creature’s neck. It had to be dismembered and burned to prevent any reanimation. Of this, Jack had been certain. He was a self proclaimed Creeper expert, so Libby took his word on the subject. Three weeks ago, she would have laughed at her brother’s ridiculous hobby. But that was before.  

“I’m done, Lib. You can come back here, now” Jack yells across the void. Libby saunters across the blackness and stares at her kid brother. He looks like some warped action hero. Dirt and blood are caked on his pale skin and his short blonde hair is wrapped up with a dirty cotton rag. Holes adorn his jeans and the tee shirt that was once blue is now an indistinguishable hue of gross. The bloody knife rests on his knee and he smiles looking down at it. Libby wonders what she must look like and pushes the thought from her head and instead decides to argue her case. “I could have helped you burn it, at least. I’m not totally useless. The next one we kill is mine, dude. I’m sick of not helping”.  Jack grins and says “Fine, Libby. Cut the fuckers head clean off. I can see that working out. You’d be a screaming, puking mess in five minutes, drawing all sorts of unwanted attention to us. We’ve been over this. Your job is to scout Creepers and food. You just do that and let me worry about the fun stuff, eh?”.  

Jack studies his sister as she stomps away and tries not to laugh at her little tantrum. She’s 21 now, but she acts like a ten year old. He watches her sit down in the grass and attempt to smooth out the skirt of her filthy sundress beneath her. Typical, he thinks. Princess Libby mustn’t be wrinkled. The moon shines around her and the parts of her hair that aren’t caked with mud still shine strawberry blonde. Like Mom, he thinks. But Mom is gone. They all are. Libby is all that is left, and nothing is going to hurt her.

Reviews

[paul]

And her mind was unwell. - love the line and it's placement in the story
i find your writing so accessible and captivating - a joy to read

great pic too !!