The Viscous Hold of Jam

By Sooz006

Wed, 28 Jun 2023
  • 393 reads
12 comments
 

I wrote this earlier this morning, for the IP but adapted to fit something I need. 

The town was rotting like fallen fruit. The only place Tammy felt safe was at her grandmother's table, where the aroma of hot scones and sweet, sweet jam filled the air—but Grandma was dead.

As Tammy grew, she saw the decline of the well-kept surroundings. flats went up and gardens came down. The orchard where she’d skinned her knees was a drop-in centre for addicts. Nobody dropped-in, because innocence was beyond redemption. But hundreds had dropped out—of society—and more every year. Poverty and violence stained the pavements with every new covering of cardboard shelter. The up-market homeless had pop-up tents. But only, the new ones. Priorities my son, they’d learn. The majority weighed the cost of shelter against their begging’s take and bought what they needed to escape for another few hours.

She was fifteen and hopeless. In her search of a new way, Tammy envied the older boys. Seduced by the stench of weed because it stopped them seeing the rot, she joined them and a dark path opened. Jax was the leader—influencer—fool at the head of this lowest level gang, but there were others with equally stupid names if these brothers didn’t suit. They governed the city. Jax, a minor himself at seventeen, had the swagger and corrupted Tammy, replacing her innocence with a twisted sense of family. Grandma was dead—all hail New Grandma Jax.

Tammy ran with him and learned his art. She embraced the web of crime, seduced by the thrill of petty theft and low tier dealing. Success was fleeting, and soon replaced by a decayed aftertaste of regret. Tammy yearned for the love of her grandmother's kitchen and used a syringe to dull the pain. She still smelt her, among the urine and human rot, and pulp. Sometimes, she turned her head on the cold ground and Grandma was there, a waft on the stinking wind of sunshine and apples. But each time it was fainter, a fading memory.

A violent encounter with a knife—she lived—they died—shattered Tammy's fragile hold on owning herself, and she ran. Holed up at Jax’s, her heartbeat was a train that couldn’t take her anywhere. It was lost in the corrupt core of the city, like Tammy. She stared into the sunken eyes of her reflection— She was a hollow vessel, taken like a virgin by Jax's darkness—she realised the cost of her loss.

Tammy made a choice. She’d break free of the suffocating grip of Jax's world. Then she was going to reclaim the remnants of her childhood. She’d cling to redemption before it was too late.

One day she’d have a kitchen. But Grandma was dead.

Futility came with a bag of fruit—it was already too late.

Certificate 18
Story
Writing 2020

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

This is what happens in poverty, when you have to be part of a gang and be tough, inless you're strong and given a reason to escape, it's hard to break away from. 

I watched a programme about poverty, and this young lad chose boxing over drugs, it really helped him to discover a way out, because he was determined not to go down that road of drugs and gangs, even though he'd nearly got drawn into it.

This story feels so real and opens up so many questions. I wish it wasn't such a mad cycle, but sadly when you don't know any different, and there's no help history keep repeating itself.

An important reminder of living in an intense environment.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on

That's it, if young people have a purpose on that--if they don't they can get so easily led astray. 

Thank Jenny. 

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Very raw, and tragic.

it is interesting what Jenny said about boxing, as (reading of way in the past), and to some extent recently I've seen reference to boxing being used by those working amongst youngsters and finding it giving them an outlet for their frustrated energy, hopefully in a controlled way. Maybe there are other sports that can be used well, but anyway it takes those with dedication and integrity and special gift, and God's help and guidance to get involved and help some out of the sliding trap that knows nothing of real concern and love. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on

I think mostly the world is good, but it's still dirty sometimes, and rather than helping, too often we don't want to get dirt on our hands. I'm not convinced by the vitures of boxing, but I agree that being part of somrting else and having something to believe in is the answer. 

 

Submitted by celticman on

great idea turnining Jam from a thing into a person. Sweet even. 

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on

Thanks Celt, I wrote it ror rthe IP but adapted it to use elsewhere. :)

 

 

 

Submitted by Starfish Girl on

You just hope that he will escape and have a future but as you read you know he won't survive. No grandma to save him. So sad but so true.

Lindy

Submitted by Sooz006 on

Yes, I don't think this one fared well, others maybe. Thank you, Starfish. 

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Interesting writing that reflects the way that the lives of many young people go when they are brought up in deprived areas. I've seen this happen so many times.

My father in law used to say that, as a young lad, training two or three times a week at Micky Sunderland's boxing hall saved him from a life of crime on the streets of Leeds. He only boxed for just over a year and never became a real boxer but he did become a real senior sales executive with British Telecom. The life of crime disappeared but so did his street credibility.

Jam's a great name, by the way. We used to have a cat called Marmalade.

Turlough

Submitted by Sooz006 on

Thank you Turlough, I used it to meet the brief, but changed it to use as a vingette in a larger piece. Boxing does seem to be a turnaround.But I expect anything that gives somebody a purpose, something to compete in, and people who believe in them would work. :)

 

Submitted by ice rivers on

This is a powerful and evocative story that delves into themes of loss, decay, and the struggle for redemption. Your vivid descriptions and poignant imagery paint a stark picture of a deteriorating neighborhood and the impact it has on Tommy.

The first paragraph sets a strong tone by contrasting the rotting surroundings with the comforting image of Tommy's grandmother's table. The contrast between the decay and the nostalgic memories of warmth and love creates an immediate emotional connection. The mention of Grandma's death adds another layer of sadness and emphasizes the void in Tommy's life.

Excellent variation on the IP.

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on

Thank you Ice, I did change it slightly ffrom Tommy to Tammy because it dawned on me after writing that it solves a puzzle I was stuck on with something else. It's great when you write a little throw-away piece for a bit of practice in writing to brief --and then find it gets you out of writting yourself into a corner.  I wanted to get the starkness between wholesome and bleak. Thank you.