Jack

While i was experimenting with Essence at the edge of the slums, a familiar voice called me.

"Yo, Zeph."

Without turning around, I recognized the voice. It was Jack, a boy I had met a year ago. When I first met him, his eyes were shadowed by a lifetime of hardship, but as we talked, I realized why. Life had never been kind to him—not since the day he was born.

His mother worked in the red-light district, and his father was unknown. She'd sold him to a slave trader when he was just five years old. He'd suffered for six years before being bought by a noblewoman in a neighboring city as a "plaything" for her and her spoiled children. Despite his circumstances, Jack was handsome—even among the noble kids.

One night, he decided to escape.

Jack's escape wasn't just an act of desperation—it was a cold, calculated decision born of survival. The chains binding him were thick and unyielding, forged to withstand the struggles of even the strongest slaves.

He had tried everything—picking the locks, weakening the links with stolen tools, even begging for mercy—but nothing worked.

The noblewoman's children, spoiled and cruel, had grown bored of their usual "games" and had begun to take their frustrations out on him.

The last time, they'd nearly killed him, leaving him bruised and broken in the cellar. Jack knew it was only a matter of time before their "play" went too far.

That night, as the household slept, Jack made his choice. He had stolen a jagged kitchen knife weeks earlier, hiding it in a hidden crack in the wall.

His hands trembled as he gripped the blade, the cold metal biting into his palm. He knew what he had to do.

He positioned the knife above his left wrist, just below the chain. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his ears.

He thought of the noblewoman's laughter, the children's sneers, the way they treated him like less than human. He thought of the life he'd lost, the life he could still have if he survived this.

For a moment, he hesitated, the knife trembling in his hand. He thought of his mother and how she sold him for a few bronze coins, her empty promises. Then he clenched his jaw and stopped hesitating.

A fury unlike anything he'd ever known surged through him, hot and unrelenting, like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. It burned away the fear, the pain, the years of humiliation, leaving behind only a single, searing thought: 'No more'.

With a scream muffled by the cloth he'd stuffed into his mouth, Jack brought the knife down. The pain was blinding, white-hot and searing, but he didn't stop.

He sawed through flesh and bone, his vision swimming with tears and darkness. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky, but he kept going. He had to.

When the hand finally came free, Jack nearly passed out from the pain. He slumped against the wall, gasping for air, his body shaking uncontrollably. But he didn't have time to rest. Using the last of his strength, he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and tied it tightly around the stump, slowing the bleeding.

The chains, still attached to the severed hand, clattered to the floor. Jack didn't look back. He stumbled to his feet, clutching the knife in his remaining hand, and crept out of the cellar.

He squeezed through a gap in the wrought iron fence, the jagged edges scraping against his skin as he forced himself through.

The moment he was free, he bolted into the forest, his legs pumping wildly, the underbrush clawing at his clothes as if trying to pull him back.

He didn't stop, didn't look back—he just ran, the cold night air burning his lungs and the distant howl of the wind urging him forward.

The night air was cold against his skin, but it felt like freedom.

He didn't know where he was going, only that he couldn't stay. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the certainty of death he'd left behind. Jack had chosen to live, no matter the cost.

I found him in the forest while fetching water from the river, bloodied and near death. I tore my shirt to clean and bandage his wounds, then brought him to my mother.

She was skilled with herbs and managed to save him. With nowhere else to go, we let him stay with us. In return, he helped with minor tasks and chores.

The first day we met is still etched into my mind.