The city was Brassvale, but nobody called it that. Everyone around here called it Blenc. Some said it was short for \u201cblend,\u201d because it blended broken dreams with broken people. Others swore it was a bastardization of an old factory name long since boarded up. Whatever the truth, the name stuck like the smog that clung to its streets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For seven-year-old Jahnny, Blenc was all he\u2019d ever known. His world was a patchwork of cracked pavement, rusted streetlights that flickered more than they shone, and towering buildings that seemed to lean in on themselves as if tired of standing. Even in the daylight, the city looked like it was in a permanent state of dusk, shadows stretched long across graffiti-covered walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That evening, Jahnny was outside on the stoop with his older sister, Lila, who had just turned nine. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, chewing on her thumbnail while Jahnny flipped a busted baseball in his hand. \u201cThink this used to belong to someone famous?\u201d he asked, holding the scuffed-up ball toward her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lila glanced at it and rolled her eyes. \u201cYeah, probably Dave Swoot\u2019s. He left it here just for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe he did,\u201d Jahnny said with a grin. He tossed the ball against the stoop wall and caught it on the rebound. Behind them, the faint crack of a bat hitting a bottle rang out from the alley, where neighborhood kids were playing their own version of baseball. Jahnny could hear their laughter and cheers, but he didn\u2019t join them. His mother had told him to stay close. \u201cDon\u2019t want you getting caught up with the wrong crowd,\u201d she\u2019d said, though to Jahnny, everyone in Blenc felt like the wrong crowd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMom said to come inside before it gets dark,\u201d Lila muttered. \u201cYou know how Dad gets.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jahnny shrugged. \u201cHe\u2019s not home yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the problem,\u201d Lila said, her voice quieter this time. She stood up and brushed dirt off her patched jeans. \u201cC\u2019mon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of burnt toast and baby powder. The wallpaper had peeled back in long strips, revealing water-stained plaster beneath. Jahnny\u2019s eldest sister, Clara, sat on the couch with her legs crossed, flipping through a magazine. At fifteen, Clara barely lived at home anymore. She spent most nights at her boyfriend\u2019s place\u2014\u201cfriend\u201d being a generous word for a guy in his thirties who sold car parts out of his garage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Marie was in the kitchen, bouncing the youngest of the siblings, little Betsy, on her hip. Betsy had just turned one last week, though there hadn\u2019t been much of a celebration. A store-bought cupcake with a single candle was all they could afford. Jahnny had eaten half of it when Betsy got distracted, her baby teeth struggling with the frosting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJahnny, wash your hands before you sit at the table,\u201d Marie said, her voice weary but steady. She was sitting in the corner chair, her blouse unbuttoned just enough to let Betsy nurse. Her face was drawn tight with exhaustion, and though her dark curls were pinned back, loose strands framed her face in disheveled chaos. One hand supported the baby, while the other absentmindedly rubbed at a stain on her faded apron, a futile effort against years of wear and tear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jahnny sighed and headed to the bathroom. The faucet sputtered to life, spitting out cold water in uneven bursts. He rubbed the grime off his hands and dried them on his jeans, knowing better than to waste one of the few clean towels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By the time he got back, Garth had stumbled through the front door. Jahnny froze in the hallway as the familiar sound of his father\u2019s boots thudded against the worn floorboards. \u201cMarie!\u201d Garth barked, his voice already slurred. \u201cWhere\u2019s the money?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIn the rent jar, where it always is,\u201d Marie replied sharply, without missing a beat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat jar\u2019s got nothin\u2019 in it but pennies,\u201d Garth snapped. \u201cI need real money. Not this kid crap.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s all that\u2019s left,\u201d Marie said, setting Betsy down in the playpen. \u201cYou gambled away the rest, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019d you say to me?\u201d Garth\u2019s voice dropped, low and dangerous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jahnny could see his mother\u2019s back from where he stood, straight and unyielding. She didn\u2019t flinch. \u201cI said you gambled it away. We got nothing left, Garth. Nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou think you\u2019re better than me?\u201d he snarled, stepping closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jahnny didn\u2019t realize Lila was standing behind him until she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward their shared bedroom. \u201cCome on,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Clara didn\u2019t follow. She stayed on the couch, arms crossed, glaring at their father with a boldness that made Jahnny\u2019s stomach twist. He wanted to tell her to stop, to come with them and stay quiet. But he didn\u2019t say a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once inside the bedroom, Jahnny flopped onto the mattress he shared with Lila. She sat down next to him, hugging her knees to her chest. \u201cI hate him,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t say that,\u201d Jahnny mumbled, though he didn\u2019t sound convinced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe\u2019s a waste of space,\u201d Lila said, louder this time. \u201cMom would be better off without him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The words stung, even if Jahnny couldn\u2019t disagree. Still, he hated hearing anyone talk about their dad like that. Even if Garth was mean and loud and drank too much, he was still their dad. And some part of Jahnny still wanted to believe he could be better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The yelling from the kitchen rose to a fever pitch before cutting off abruptly. Jahnny held his breath, waiting for what came next. But instead of a crash or a slap, there was only the sound of boots stomping toward the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It slammed shut behind Garth, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Later that night, long after the apartment had settled into its usual uneasy quiet, Jahnny climbed out onto the fire escape. The metal was cold against his hands as he pulled himself up, sitting cross-legged and looking out at the hazy skyline of Blenc. He tried to count the stars, but they were faint and far away, barely visible through the smog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lila appeared in the window behind him, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail. \u201cYou\u2019ll catch a cold,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jahnny didn\u2019t answer. He was too busy staring at the sky. \u201cDo you think if I made a wish on one of those stars, it\u2019d work?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lila sighed and climbed out to sit beside him. \u201cWishes don\u2019t work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah, but what if they do?\u201d Jahnny pressed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Lila hugged her knees again, her voice quieter now. \u201cThen I\u2019d wish Dad never came back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Jahnny didn\u2019t reply. He just stared at the stars, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the fire escape. When he made his wish, it wasn\u2019t to make Garth go away. It was to be strong enough to protect the people he loved. To make sure nobody in Blenc could ever hurt his family again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Brassvale Nights The city was Brassvale, but nobody called it that. Everyone around here called it Blenc. Some said it was short for \u201cblend,\u201d because it blended broken dreams with broken people. Others swore it was a bastardization of an old factory name long since boarded up. Whatever the truth, the name stuck like the … Continue reading “Garth\u2019s Actions – Prologue”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-652","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/652","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=652"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/652\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":653,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/652\/revisions\/653"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=652"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=652"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/harthorns-reverie.com\/blog\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=652"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}