One minute Jason Beckett's instructor was showing him how to keep the nails steady while hammering, the next minute he was gone and Jack's hand was engulfed in fiery pain. Tears streaming from his eyes, he tried looking around at who or what might have shattered his hand and took Mr. Blake. His eyes found nothing, so he collapsed against the table and held his broken hand.
Jack's breath came through in heavy, choking sobs and he clutched his arm as it started to spasm and slowly swell.
He sucked in a huge breath and calmed himself enough to asses his situation. His hand was most definitely broken, the swelling and bruise told him that. All he had to do was find out where the bones fractured. Then he could just move them back in place and hold them together with a splint. Seems simple enough.
But it wasn't simple when you were the one in intense pain, trying to move your own bones back into place.
Jack was crying, but not because of the pain.
Jack wasn't a bad kid. He was a little mean some times, but never very bad. He grew up in a typical black neighborhood and lived around decent kids. He wasn't one of the black kids that lived in the hood or anything, he was just a pretty normal kid with a pretty normal fifteen years of life. Was God doing this?
Did God reach down, crush his hand, and take Mr. Blake? No, when Jack went to church the Preacher said God was kind and loved everyone, so he wouldn't do that. But who? Nobody had the power to reach out and grab someone and make them disappear.
Jack started crying harder. He was such a baby, he knew that. So at that thought he shakily rose to his feet and shuffled over to the small first aid kit. It was bolted to the wall, so he just scooped all the contents that were inside out into his arms.
He sat on the floor and started moving the bones around under his skin. It looked weird, and besides the pain, it felt pretty weird to. The little sliver of sharp bone shone white against his stretched, dark skin. Eventually, he moved all the little pieces back in what felt like the right place. He then put two sticks on either side of his hand, and tied them tightly together with an ace bandage.
Exhausted, he lay back and held up his hand. Thankfully it was his left, he was right-handed.
He sucked in a deep breath, deciding to wait till morning to find out what to do.
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