Always Without Malice

 

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Always Without Malice

By William A Abeleven

Text copyright © W A Abeleven

All Rights Reserved

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Susan O'Reilly

Hi William don't know how else to pop you a message thanks for yours. It was only when I saw yours that I realised there is no place to leave a note or message unless I'm missing something. Tablo might look into it lol. Nice connecting with you sláinte.

This book is dedicated to P, who encouraged and cajoled me to write.

Entrant - Random House 2013 Literary Competition

Entrant - Queensland Literary Awards 2015

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Prologue

“You’re stupid Jasper, and I’m going to tell everyone in class what you just asked me to do. I might even tell Miss Perkins,Becky Clark grinned. She paused and looked him straight in the eye before pushing herself up off the ground brushing the dry crushed leaves and twigs off her dress.

“Becky, don’t tell. It was just a game, and you said ….

Jasper stopped and cocked his head. It was her mother’s voice, and the yap of their stupid dog, but the brambles were too thick to see or be seen through, and he turned back to her. The smirk on her face irritated him. It was as though she was telling him she could do whatever she wanted now.

“I’m going.” She turned away, ducking her head to clear the brambles, but he caught her wrist. “Let go Jasper,” she pulled back against him, but he was a strong boy - wiry and cordy and she quickly found herself back on the ground beside him.

Becky, I don’t want you to tell. I want you to promise now that you won’t tell.”

“I’m going to call out if you don’t let me go.”

Promise and I’ll let you go. I just don’t want you to tell.

“Stop it Jasper,” her voice a sing-song now, warning him of what would come if he didn’t.

Bitch,” he said through his teeth as he put a hand over her mouth, pulling her down harder as he did. His other hand searching for grip to pull her deeper in to the foliage, found a bramble branch not much thicker than a finger. He pulled himself back into the foliage, her with him before he heard the snap of the branch give way, leaving him with a stick not much thicker than a finger in his hand. He brought the end of it, rough, jagged and splintered, to her face and pressed it in under her eye till he saw her wince.

I want you to promise not to tell,” he whispered. “If you promise, I’ll let you go now.

But she did not yield. Perhaps it was the sound of home in her ears - her mother and the mutt, and instead of giving in, he felt her mouth open and then bite down hard on his hand, her legs begin kicking out. And then she sort of went kicked once more and then gave up and he thought it was kind of funny, that sound she made. Not funny in a laughing way, but funny how that noise she made stayed inside her mouth. She sounded like that pet rabbit he’d had and that he’d got tired of.

They stayed like that for a while, just lying there until he couldn’t hear the mother or the mutt anymore, and then he pulled the stick out. It was wet, the sound it made and he threw it as far in as he could into the brambles around them. A little blood flicked onto his hand - the one still cupping her mouth and he giggled before coughing. Making himself cough always stopped the giggles.

Everything was all crazy after that - after they’d found him cradling her, both of them covered in her blood. And he’d cut out the newspaper story about the terrible accident and how the little girl’s little friend had tried to save her after she’d fallen, playing in the bramble bushes that had been their little hideaway.

Later, when his parents took him to Becky’s funeral, it was, not funny - not in a laughing way anyway, but funny how it was him too who ended up a victim, just like Becky. Poor Becky, poor Jasper, he heard them say as though he wasn’t really there. And saying how terrible it must have been for him, and how, if ever, would he get over such a thing? But everyone said too how brave he was, keeping it all inside the way he was.

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