#Australians please tell me if this was aqurate.

[poetpony6890]

A scene from the ghosts of the past.

Tw: violence, drugs, rape and child abuse

Sharing a bed, which was not truly a bed yet a clearly molding mattress on the floor, was never something Jacob Makepeace or his cousin wished for.

He had loved his younger brother the moment he saw him, covered in fluids, placenta, and blood. With Zeke, he had learned to love, a hard fret for the angry boy.

the youngest boy did not mind, he was though a lap dog curled up on the end of it.

They had all lost track of how long he had been sick, all they knew was he wasn’t going to get any better.

When the door of the public house slammed open, then shut, Jacob blinked his eyes awake.

“Oi.. Lads.” A deep voice slurred.

“You got any money?” A known voice called out from behind him.

“Mum!” He cried out, stifling his arms behind him to see her from the light of the stars, sticking out from the ripped curtains of the window.

Soft rays of light illuminated her blonde hair, her sunken, blood picked face.

“Money!! Have you got any money!?” She yelled, yanking his blond hair towards herself as she came close.

“No! No! I don’t have any money.”

“oh fuck off then.” She swore, pushing his head back down.

From the end of the mattress, a head of thin blond hair made its way up.

“Mummy?” The youngest boy cried.

“Have you got money?!” She now screamed, grabbing onto his wrist and holding him tightly, panicking.

“We don’t have money!” Jacob defended.

“Ladss.. got any money?” The man asked.

“Dad. We don’t have money. The bottle o isn’t even open anymore.” Zeke tried.

“Yessss it’s it- it’s holiday?” He asked, flopping down onto the mattress lengthwise.

Well violently attacking the length of her arm, Violet began to tear at every inch of the house she could, pulling on each handle of the cabinet, sticking her head under the sink.

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Zeke mentioned.

Unlike most in Australia, none of the children in the room were gifted anything for Christmas. There was no tree,no lights strung up to light the joyous mood, no decorations. The only thing that remained slightly related to the holiday was the sprinkling of what they had told the youngest boy was fake snow.

“Oooh. You know you know in my day we didn’t have Christmas.” He stated.

“You did, dad. You just don’t remember it.” Zeke cleared, as Violet came back up the stairs.

She ignored them all and kept going up, stomping into the bathroom.

“Yeah..” the man slumped down on his head, before it could bash on the ground, Zeke caught it with his bruised hand.

From upstairs, there was a huge crash, then running footsteps.

In her hand, clenched tightly was a glass pipe and a small bag. Upon seeing the bag, her current fix shot up.

“Hey! You betta fucking share, bitch!” He yelled, swaying over to the spot next to the window where a beaten couch cushion lay. They did not own a couch and never had.

“Fuck off! This is mine!” She swore, he pushed her down to the ground, holding her down by her thin wrists.

“Leave her alone!” The youngest boy cried, just has ripped the bag from her right and the pipe from her left.

Pulling the boy into his chest, Jacob shushed him softly. With the final blow landing to her head, Violet froze up into a tight knit ball.

The man opened the bag, filling the pipe with the little that was left. He then reached out for his cheap lighter, the same one that burned Zeke on his thighs.

As the rocks light up, thick smoke filled his mouth, he blew it out. It flooded the air, enough to make Jacob swipe his hand.

Once done, he turned to the ball on the ground.

“Come here, shank.” He shouted,she lightly shirked as her feet were pulled closer to his crotch.The boys facing her stared.

“Stop it! Stop, please not in front of my boys.” She cried, he ignored her and ripped off her bleached skirt, then her soiled stolen panties.

Out of the things Jacob had been witnessed her steal, the cheeta print panties was not the worst. At least not in his opinion, according to Zeke it was. Now he knew why he thought so.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!” The man screamed, Jacob quickly picked up his younger brother, then followed Zeke as he fled the house. He held the front door open for him as they went.

Without any where to go, they sat down in the browning grass of the front lawn. From the thin walls, they could hear her screaming, begging, pleading, then finally a sickening silence.

“Why is he doing that to mommy?” The youngest boy cried.

“They’re just playing.” Zeke tried to explain, as his brother pulled him onto his lap.

He knew he was lying.Almost everything he said was a lie. He had to, to protect him.He loved him.That’s what’s people who love you do.

He had not seen him come out of his shared womb, yet he would never allow him to be covered in that much blood again.

He had learned to love the bothersome boy. As much as he the boy facing him. He had seen him covered in that much blood.He was protecting himself and Zeke. He knew how. He knew he needed to, so he did.

“Will Santa still visit if we’re outside?” He asked, allowing his brother to rub his back lightly.

Both older boys gaped at each other. It had been a longer time than they had believed in the concept of the big fat man stuffing his way into each and every home to eat cookies in return for presents.

“We didn’t make any cookies. He won’t want to see us without cookies.” Zeke defended.

“What about carrots? Do we have carrots? For Rudolph.” He asked, tugging gently on the hole filled shirt, putting the hem of it in his mouth.

“I’m sure we have some stale cereal on the floor, we can pick them up off the ground and stuff them in a bag. For Rudolph. For the road.”Jacob soothed, as his younger brother sucked on his shirt.

“Try and get some sleep, Archie.” Zeke suggested.

None of them ever got sleep. At least not good sleep. The sounds of the neighbour hood was intense, howling canines, screaming children, husbands wifes girlfriend boyfriend, gunshots, gun wounds.

As Jacob watched the consolations begin to fade as the sun came up, he wondered if Santa was real in the same way his family thought the angels were real. Were they only there if you believed? If you gave faith to something other than yourself, your morals, your sense of justice, your pride.

Just has he had with Santa, he knew the answer. If there was an angel in the sky, he wasn’t looking out for the three of them.

Stranded on rotting wood, starving, confused. If the angel was real, his mother wouldn’t be the way that she was.

She wasn’t a bad person, the things she did made her a bad person. The company she kept, the way she treated her kids. He knew her better than anyone, yet she was the reason he has stop knowing what to believe. Yet he still plays the role of her defender. He always will.