1. Jack and Jackie. Part 1: Escape
  2. Jack and Jackie. Part 2: Akash
  3. Jack and Jackie. Part 3: Home

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Based on one old fairy tale ...

***

So, decided: run. Me and Mr. Jenkins. He is the guy that is needed, and I trust him as my own. It seems to me that I have known him for ages. We have already figured out how to fool my dad. He is a bighead - Mr. Jenkins, that is. No wonder he works in this their human rights organization, or as her. There are no fools. To fight for justice is not for you to wash cars.

Devil! I say like a dad.

I even look like him. I have his nose, his eyes. This is normal, but this is wrong. I should not be like him. I hate myself for that. Hurry, Mr. Jenkins and I would have dragged away from here until I was completely mad at this prison. It's 1982, and I live like a cave troll of some kind.

Dad is coming. Hiding diary.

***

It is necessary to gather the spirit and not to mess things up. And then I already look at the fireplace poker, when dad reads me his morality here. Although I do not have enough strength. I’m a slick guy, not like Mr. Jenkins. Of course - no sports, no physical development. I'm like a girl.

Although I didn’t see any girls, if in good conscience. On TV only. The old goat keeps me locked up, because I, you know, will instantly die without this of my medicine. Well, let's say, even though I do not believe it. But why should I be kept like a sofa dog, not let go outside, forbid to communicate with people? Why should I forbid reading what I want and giving me books one by one after altercations? And I watch TV only when my father is in a good mood. And also in secret. I saw it there ...

Today I dreamed again THIS. Devil, am I really blue? ..

***

My father is an unrecognized genius. He lives in his own kennel, which he proudly calls the castle the Ottomans, cut off from the world and keeps me locked up. He always eats up in these of his experiments - he has a laboratory here, jam-packed with every unhappy beast, like rabbits or squirrels. He either cuts them, or turns them into monsters — the hell knows, I don’t go there. There is a triple alarm, as in a bank. And I have him as a manual squirrel.

But still there is justice in the world, because one day Mr. Jenkins came to us. Many people come to us, and dad shows off everyone, but no one has paid attention to me if I suddenly fall under my feet. The old fart forbids me to go out to the guests, but if they descend suddenly, and he will forget to lock me in, I will definitely look out, even though he yells at me later. Though look at what they are, living people something.

But they are always busy dad and his secrets. Bullshit it all, he has no secrets, one window dressing. I'm sure of it. He simply could not do anything in life and is showing off now to pay attention to him. And made the same bastard. Every week, reporters climb. But of all of them, only Mr. Jenkins spoke to me.

And then he came again, and we even talked a little while the father drove away someone from the laboratory. Mr. Jenkins told me: it's immediately obvious that the only adequate person here is you. Well, that is me. And leaving, left me a note.

It turns out that he is from a human rights organization that fights for justice. Rumors reached him that they were being bullied here, and he asked me to tell about my life. Well, I told him, of course, painted everything in color. Let him publish it in some cool newspaper - in USAToday, for example, or in Washington Post. Still, there is justice in the world! I am now even ready to believe in God - that it was he who sent me Mr. Jenkins. And I am ready to pray to him every day. I am doing this because I'm afraid - will the escape break loose?

But it should not: we thought it out so well with him. We exchanged notes through the magazine RangerRick *, which I wrote out. This is the only thing that allowed me to write out the old hrych.Mr. Jenkins sent me magazines and put notes in them, and I just threw my messages to our mailbox - the postman took them along with all the mail, and the father didn’t blow it.

_________________________

* Analogue of our "Young Naturalist" (autom.)

Tomorrow we will do it. Tomorrow I will be free.

Everything is elementary, as Sherlock Holmes said: in the mornings, the old coyote does not lock me up, and you just need to distract him, as Mr. Jenkins did in his second parish. Then we will have time to run to his car, and Mr. Jenkins will pour out gasoline from his father. Simple and ingenious.

If only it happened, if only ...

***

I can not fall asleep. I fall asleep for five minutes and immediately wake up.

I’m dreaming again ... I don’t even know how to describe it. Once I saw on TV how they did it. At night, I got up to the toilet, and the father gaped and did not immediately turn off, so I had time to see something. They were naked - she stood on all fours, and he bore her from behind with his pussy, as huge as a sausage. Not like mine. She was young, and he was older, experienced such as Mr. Jenkins.

And since then, I sometimes dream that they do it to me. It’s just strange that it’s not me, but me. Like I'm a girl. I stand here exactly the same on four, and he threshes me from behind ...

Am I really blue ?! But this can not be - because I like girls, I look at them with such pleasure in films, and then I dream of how I am friends with them, touch them and kiss ... I dream to see real boobs. I saw them on TV several times, but this is all garbage, for a couple of seconds, and I want to consider, touch ... They seem to me a real miracle. The girl from the tele they dangled like bells. I liked it so much that I tried to remember well how it was, so that I could imagine. I know how: I shove something into my memory, like in the freezer, and then I take it out and defrost it, if necessary. How else, if I do not give neither read nor communicate?

I am stealing from papa magazines. He sometimes catches me and screams, but usually does not notice. And I read and put it back in the pile. In one magazine I read that all the boys are just a little bit, and they dream to be girls. Previously, I did not think about it, but as I read it, I thought and realized that it is so.

Girls - after all, they are generally some kind of special. They are amazing. This is how people improved grade. It seems that they are made of something precious. Surely being a beautiful girl is much more interesting than such a squish like me. Although the real cool guy is also cool to be. So, as Mr. Jenkins - strong, intelligent. And beautiful. He is like a Norse god or viking. I want to be like him, even though I know that this is impossible.

Dad is always pricking my medicine, without which I can’t even last a day. So he says, and I do not believe him. I'm all prickly, like an apple on a hedgehog. But even if he is right, it is better to die in the wild than to live there as a room rat. Just in case I hid the vial and syringe. If poploheet - injections, and there the doctors will understand. Probably smarter will be my dad. I, too, a genius.

It's a shame, of course, to die out of the blue. So much to see. For example, that the girls instead of pussing. So interesting and scary ...

But my dreams are even worse. Why? Why?

***

Yes!!! I am free! Free !!!

We did it!

Mr. Jenkins helped me escape, and we are having dinner at a real motel! Of course, Dad will give the police, but Mr. Jenkins says that this will not help him, because I was held illegally.

I can not convey how I feel! We flew by car across the expanses, and I saw so much! I have never traveled in a car before! This feeling of movement - I can not describe it, it's like you are flying! To freedom! And around the blue sky, the sun, a bunch of other cars and people, and it's so cool to think that I can come up to everyone and speak freely, and say, “Hi, I’m Jack, and who?

In me all this is buzzing now. I like a little bit crazy. Or how drunk. By the way, Mr. Jenkins ordered a bottle of wine, and I first drank alcohol! Cool, just no words. I am a little troubled, ...

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