Sangria Sundae Part Two
Author: Lauri
Story: Jackson in the West
Prompt: Sangria 2 (Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.) Chopped Nuts
Rating: G
Word Count: 544
Notes: Mostly this is a little piece of exposition to get Jackson from where he was in the first piece to where he will be from here on out. So far I have kept these prompts in order, but where I'm going with it now fits a different prompt than what's next so that will likely change.
Jackson stood in street and took a long look at the two story building in front of him. It was his, bought and paid, for a year at least. Jackson would see how things stood in a year. A year, it would be the longest he'd stayed in one place in three years.
Zane had fallen head over heels for a young woman named Cassandra in a sleepy little village in Kansas about a year after they left. They were probably married with a child on the way by now, knowing Zane.
Six months after they had left Zane, Jefferson had befriended a young Navaho man, who, after many lively yet amicable debates, invited him to set up a mission just outside his village.
So Jackson was alone now, and as happy as he was for his brothers, he didn't like it much. He remembered back when he was ten, and all he wanted was to be alone, it had seemed his family was everywhere. Now, at nineteen, he'd give everything he had just to hear his mother's voice again.
He shook his head, this wasn't the time or place for being maudlin. He had finally got up enough capital to start his own business. He had spent the last three years working for other people, now he would be his own man. The store was rented, the shelves were set, the merchandise to fill the shelves was ordered and on its way. He had just finished contracting to Hiram Billings paint a sign on the large plate glass storefront window. If everything went to plan, he would have his grand opening in a week and a half. And who knew, if he was successful, and still here in year or two, perhaps he'd contact his father.
Of course, Zane or Jefferson might have contacted him already. In fact his father might show up at any time to let him know a safe haven had been found, but Jackson sincerely doubted it. Zane was probably safe where he was, he had taken his birth-mother's name, and didn't have the pointed ears like the rest of them. Jefferson was probably fine, or at least in a position to defend himself, but moving the entire clan out there probably wouldn't be feasible. Here though, in Melbourne Colorado, it was just conceivable that they might be safe.
Of course he had thought that with countless other towns and villages along the way. Just to feel the sting of disappointment when for one reason or another he realized that safety was an illusion. Most often it was just a case of widespread bigotry among the townsfolk. If people hated a man because of the color of his skin, what would they do when they realized a man had only a small fraction of human blood in his veins? Once or twice he'd not been careful enough, and someone had seen his ear tips, and reacted badly. He'd had to flee fairly quickly then.
He'd almost given up on hoping. In fact he had tried to steel his heart and soul against it, but it always showed up, never quite letting him be. Always whispering into that deep part of him, that maybe this time things would be different.
Story: Jackson in the West
Prompt: Sangria 2 (Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.) Chopped Nuts
Rating: G
Word Count: 544
Notes: Mostly this is a little piece of exposition to get Jackson from where he was in the first piece to where he will be from here on out. So far I have kept these prompts in order, but where I'm going with it now fits a different prompt than what's next so that will likely change.
Jackson stood in street and took a long look at the two story building in front of him. It was his, bought and paid, for a year at least. Jackson would see how things stood in a year. A year, it would be the longest he'd stayed in one place in three years.
Zane had fallen head over heels for a young woman named Cassandra in a sleepy little village in Kansas about a year after they left. They were probably married with a child on the way by now, knowing Zane.
Six months after they had left Zane, Jefferson had befriended a young Navaho man, who, after many lively yet amicable debates, invited him to set up a mission just outside his village.
So Jackson was alone now, and as happy as he was for his brothers, he didn't like it much. He remembered back when he was ten, and all he wanted was to be alone, it had seemed his family was everywhere. Now, at nineteen, he'd give everything he had just to hear his mother's voice again.
He shook his head, this wasn't the time or place for being maudlin. He had finally got up enough capital to start his own business. He had spent the last three years working for other people, now he would be his own man. The store was rented, the shelves were set, the merchandise to fill the shelves was ordered and on its way. He had just finished contracting to Hiram Billings paint a sign on the large plate glass storefront window. If everything went to plan, he would have his grand opening in a week and a half. And who knew, if he was successful, and still here in year or two, perhaps he'd contact his father.
Of course, Zane or Jefferson might have contacted him already. In fact his father might show up at any time to let him know a safe haven had been found, but Jackson sincerely doubted it. Zane was probably safe where he was, he had taken his birth-mother's name, and didn't have the pointed ears like the rest of them. Jefferson was probably fine, or at least in a position to defend himself, but moving the entire clan out there probably wouldn't be feasible. Here though, in Melbourne Colorado, it was just conceivable that they might be safe.
Of course he had thought that with countless other towns and villages along the way. Just to feel the sting of disappointment when for one reason or another he realized that safety was an illusion. Most often it was just a case of widespread bigotry among the townsfolk. If people hated a man because of the color of his skin, what would they do when they realized a man had only a small fraction of human blood in his veins? Once or twice he'd not been careful enough, and someone had seen his ear tips, and reacted badly. He'd had to flee fairly quickly then.
He'd almost given up on hoping. In fact he had tried to steel his heart and soul against it, but it always showed up, never quite letting him be. Always whispering into that deep part of him, that maybe this time things would be different.