Jack And Jill

• Maia Ho, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2020

“Oooohhhhhh-hh-h-hhhh…” The choir vocalised angelically as we all bowed our heads, and the derelict, venerable church felt more sombre than ever. I stood, silent, staring at the endless sea of ebony-shawled heads as salty droplets ran down my face uncontrollably. My mother’s hand was clammy and frigid to the touch, and the way she shook with sobs made me cry harder. I knew she’d tried to shelter him, protect him, her entire life. She didn’t know the truth and had blamed herself… when it was really all my fault.

My blood boiled like molten lava as I forced myself back up the hill, my legs screaming in protest. I know, I know. Respect each other’s differences, treat everybody equally, help each other out. That’s what mother always says. But come on, get real. I am Jill Deighton of Frewin Court, England and my father was lost to Cholera when I was only 4 years old, leaving my mother a widow. It was just me, my mum and my… brother. Jack, the boy with Osteogenesis Imperfecta. The boy who left us to struggle for him, the brother who couldn’t give anything back even though I’d given up my childhood for him. I winced slightly as splinters from the pail pierced my peeling, withered hands and excess water splashed down my decrepit dress. I was sick and tired of doing all the work when all Jack did was laze around uselessly.

“Get off that chair, for goodness sake and go help us fetch some more water from the well or something. You do nothing all day while I’m slaving away like your personal maid,” I insisted, sighing in utter exasperation. Jack rolled his eyes and slumped further down in his seat.

“You know quite well that I’m not doing that, it's too dangerous. I don’t wanna go and If I fell down the hill, I’d be a goner,” he huffed.
“I want to work on that book I’ve been writing, so you’re going to get that water, whether you like it or not,” I glared, marching off to the dusty corner which was supposed to my bedroom. He sat obstinately.

I shoved the bucket in his hands, dragged him out the house and slammed the rotting, wooden door, which shook violently in response. There, let him get a taste of his own medicine. It wasn’t long after when an ear-piercing shriek sounded, so petrified that echoed for miles beyond. Jack. My mind froze and my heart began racing faster than a bird of prey. It was all happening in slow motion, my body was paralysed with terror as I sprinted down, arm outstretched… But it was too late. Tears spilled down my face as a myriad of emotions flashed through my head as I realised what I’d done.

Today, I regret everything. Jack’s passing reminded me of how much I actually loved him and now I would do all the chores in the world for him, if only I’d had another chance.