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The tale of my Laughing Jack for my blog a-laughing-clown-of-monochrome

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Just as with all Jack's, Chrome was created by an angel for the purpose of being the eternal friend of Isaac Grossman. The story is practically the same as any other, up until the point of Isaac having to lock him in his box. The only major difference being that the young Grossman gave his friend the nickname of "Chrome", because it suited the clowns "Flashy" personality. Because he cared for his little friend very much, the clown happily accepted and embraced the nickname. Upon being locked in his box and abandoned by his Isaac though, his story becomes very different than that of the other Jack's. To jump ahead a bit, he was trapped in his box for twenty three years, instead of thirteen.

However, one needs to know what happened during those twenty three years, before they can know what happened after. So, here we go. As most would know, Isaac's father was a drunk. For twelve years the clown was left alone in his box, watching as the elder Grossman beat his wife then drank himself into a coma. At first, the sight of it frightened him. Being the lighthearted, rainbow version of himself that he was, the sight of anger and tears made him tremble. For years he was forced to watch and endure the horrid sights, which played their part in making his colors fade and his hands darken. His fingers had shifted to claws within the first four years.

So whenever he tried to hug himself as an act of self comfort, he unintentionally dug into his back and sides from how tight his grip was. He didn't bleed per say, because he didn't have organs nor had he willed himself able to do so, but cotton would show through the wounds until they eventually closed. Sadly, due to how often he tore into himself, his body eventually kept the scars of the wounds because it grew tired of becoming new. Eleven years of this, and eventually Chrome took to sitting on his hands when he was frightened so that he wouldn't hurt himself anymore. After those eleven years, Isaac's father lost his job and in doing so lost his means of supporting his drinking habits.

Naturally, the man fell obsessed with trying to make enough money for a drink. He took to selling anything and everything he could that resided in the house. He started with the furniture in the lower rooms, and the moved his way up. Trinkets, paintings, heirlooms. If it wasn't attached to the house itself, he took it out to town and sold it. Eventually, Chrome's box wound up being hoisted off. He was taken out of the environment he'd been so used to seeing for nearly twelve years, and for the first time in what felt like eons to him he saw the outside world. Hope swelled inside the clown as he watched Isaac's father work on trying to sell him.

He was still very loyal to Isaac at that time, and wanted nothing more than to return to his side. In his eyes, if he was sold to someone and that person played with the box, he'd be freed and able to rush to the younger Grossman's side to be with him once more. His sense of hope only continued to grow as he was bought, and taken to another house that he realized was in the same neighborhood as Isaac's. He was quickly handed off to a child- a little girl- who took him to her room with the intentions of playing. At the time, he'd been so excited to have a child play with his box- because he thought he'd finally be set free. Sadly, that didn't turn out to be the case.

The girl wound the box, and his eagerness for freedom only grew. To him, as soon as the box opened he'd be free and he could go and find his precious friend. The music played, and for the first time in eons a genuine smile was upon his face. The music ended, and his smile fell. It fell, because the box he called prison didn't open. Whatever sense of hope he had, shattered into millions of pieces. Had hadn't known prior to that, that only his beloved Isaac could open his box. Only Isaac could lock him away, only Isaac could free him- and only Isaac could destroy him. What followed suit, played its part in destroying the clown bit by bit inside.

The girl complained to her father about the toy not working, and in response the man attempted to "Fix" the box himself. That, was torture to Chrome. The man removed screws from the box- which to the clown felt as if his limbs were being ripped off. He screamed and shouted, and begged for the man to stop- but none could hear his voice. When the box didn't fall to pieces after having the screws removed, the man attempted to smash it against the wall. Again, it would not crumble- but the blow was the equivalent of dropping a ten ton boulder on a human man. Chrome couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. All he could do was convulse in pain whenever the man attempted to do more to the box.

When he came to realize he couldn't do anything with it, he proceeded to seek out Isaac's father to demand his money back. Of course, the drunkard had no money to return- he'd spent it all on booze immediately after getting it. A fight broke out because the idiot drunk threw a blow. Chrome had to watch as two adult men viciously attacked each other- and he couldn't do anything to drown out to sounds of Isaac's mother screaming and pleading. Blood was shed. Isaac's father was pinned just next to the box and beaten to a pulp. Blood splashed out of his bleeding mouth and nose, giving part of the box a coating of it. The blood seeped into the wood, and pooled around the frightened, hurting clown.

It was around that time, that his mind became painted with thoughts of blood. Not just because he witnessed the brutal murder of Isaac's father- but because elsewhere in the world, Isaac himself finally snapped and drew innocent blood. After the murder of Isaac's father, the man held responsible was jailed. His mother remarried- and the man she came to call husband treated her better by default because he wasn't a drunk. But, that came with its own quirks. The man was against pointless possessions. Anything without use- such as toys, and pictures- were to be destroyed. That was when Chrome, was first introduced to the burn of a flame.

The man threw him into a fire. For what felt like an eternity he struggled in the searing heat- but his box did not burn. It stayed in tact until the fire went out, and to his relieve Isaac's mother seemed to take pity on him. Or rather, she'd decided to try and save the one remaining item that could remind her of her son. Seeing as her first husband had sold all else, the box was all that remained. She took the box up to Isaac's vacant room, and hid it in the closet behind the blankets. For weeks after that, she returned whenever able to try and work the box back to its original beauty. To her, it was just an attempt at salvaging something of her sons childhood.

To Chrome, who hadn't known a gentle act in over a decade, it was an act of kindness. The paint she applied to the blackened surface of the box was the equivalent of wrapping his burns with gauze. Fixing the jammed crank like easing the tension of locked joints. Everything just made him feel better- and it gave him just enough light to fight off the darkness that grew inside he and Isaac. He was connected to the male, who'd undoubtedly become an adult if he knew time correctly, but without him near the change was slow. The magic connecting them had its limits- and because Isaac had forgotten about him, the magic struggled to keep their personalities joined.

Granted, he didn't know that he'd just become a distant dream of the mans childhood. From there, the clown knew no physical pain- but he knew emotional. Thirteen years after Isaac had left- after Chrome had been locked in his box- Isaac's mother and her new husband fell ill. Pneumonia, that's the word he remembered the doctors calling it. While he didn't care much for the man who had thrown him in the fire, watching the women that had so gingerly cared for him die was another thing. He hadn't known her in real terms, but he'd still cared for her. So watching her die, broke something inside him. Not being beside her when it happened, had made the experience so much worse.

He watched as her body was hauled away. Saw countless people come and go- only to suddenly rush away. A familiar presence came into the house- but the distress had prevented him from knowing who exactly it belonged too. That is, until that person eventually came to stand before his very eyes. Isaac- his Isaac, had come home. Oh, how he'd changed. His wild eyes had lost their curious glow- they'd dimmed and sunken in from the hardships of life. He was thin, and almost looked sickly. His blonde hair was unkempt and greasy, and he had a beard starting to grown on his face. All of this shocked the clown- but at the same time he was overjoyed.

Isaac had come home. He knew, in time, that he'd be free again. From there, the next ten years were spent waiting and watching. Isaac moved into his childhood home, but he rarely entered his old room. For the first four years after his return, at least. Come the seventeenth year of being trapped in his box, Chrome watched curiously as Isaac entered his old room with a sickly looking woman who wore oddly revealing garbs. For a while, he watched their odd behavior- noted the strange ways they touched one another. Granted, this hadn't been the first time he'd seen Isaac come into the room with a woman. Wasn't the first time he'd seen them touch places and connect matching pieces.

While he didn't really understand it personally, he held enough of a connection with the male to know that it was a good act- that it felt nice. This time though, things took another turn. Something went wrong- Chrome didn't know what, but it seemed to make Isaac angry. That, in turn, triggered some anger within the clown. Isaac shouted at the woman about something- about finding a ring in her clothes. She responded in tears, and said something about needing to do it so her husband could have his drinks. The claims only made Isaac angrier, and before Chrome or the poor woman were aware of what was happening, the sound of a crack rang through the room.

Chrome stared in utter shock. Isaac had grabbed something- it looked like one of the few bricks that had come loose from the wall. Blood dripped off the stone, and pooled around the head of the woman who lied motionless on the floor. Just one hit, and that was it. Isaac had killed the woman- but instead of seeming afraid, he seemed annoyed. Confusion hit the clown for a moment, but as he witnessed what Isaac did after their connection slowly made him understand- and enjoy- what had just happened. As things would turn out, Isaac had taken to murder as a hobby- it had started as a means of dealing with his bullies, but over time it progressed.

The annoyance Chrome had felt, was because the woman had not been an intended target. That didn't keep Isaac from enjoying what he did after. The clown couldn't help but watch in awe as his eternal friend went about the process of making her into a chair. How he cut her body into segments, and peeled away her skin and flesh to dry them into leather. Every detail, from making the legs to finding the best shape and putting it together. Chrome watched it all with the utmost delight. In the six years that followed before his freedom was restored, the clown witnessed so much more. Isaac killed at least twelve more people in that room- and Chrome couldn't help but feel pride as he watched.

His dear Isaac was such a creative lad. He made spoons and knives from hand and finger bones. He made leather for binding books from skin and muscle. He scraped the fat from the bodies to make his own soap. He took the organs of his victims and ground them up to make food- but he never ate it. Chrome never did learn what Isaac did with the ground organ meat, but he eventually came to assume that he used it to feed his guests. Isaac invited people to his home frequently for the sake of gaining a good reputation. During those years though, it became apparent that Isaac gradually began to take after his father. He drank himself to sleep at least once a month.

That was how Isaac eventually came to find the box when he did. He'd finished off his beer for the night, then stumbled upstairs and taken a wrong turn to enter the room. He hadn't bothered doing anything with the closet prior to that night- though he'd taken to using it to store the various items he used while making artwork of corpses. That night though, he'd taken an interest in the dusty blankets that hid the box from plain view. It had gotten oddly cold that night because the man had forgotten to light the fire, so he wanted the extra covers for his bed. When he roughly yanked down the blankets, the box came toppling out with them.

That was when Chrome began to truly feel hope again. Isaac picked up the box, and stumbled over to his "Work area" to examine it. A laugh left him, and he proceeded to play the music to drunkenly sing "Pop goes the weasel" as it sounded off. The box opened. Chrome was overjoyed to have his freedom back and he appeared before his friend, the happiest he'd been in nearly two and a half decades. However, the expression Isaac gave him wasn't one of joy- of happily being reunited with his childhood friend. It was one of absolute fear. Isaac screamed at the sight of him, and not knowing what else to do the clown grabbed at him to cover his mouth.

That, was when he first noticed what had happened to his hand. Bewildered, he turned to peer into his reflection in the window- and his joy sank at the sight of himself. He'd, changed. His colors were gone- he was all, black and white. So, plain. But he looked horrific. His teeth, when had they grown so sharp? When had his hands blackened into such eerie looking claws? Fear flooded his system at the sight of himself, and he let go of Isaac who scrambled to get away from him. When he did so, a knife from atop the work desk fell- it landed in the wood of the box. A pained gasp left him, and he grasped at his abdomen to find "Blood" seeping from a hole that had appeared when the knife hit his box.

Despite being drunk, Isaac put two and two together. To Chrome's dismay, he grabbed the box and began to stab at it with the knife. Every jab triggered pain, and blood began to seep from the holes that appeared on the clowns body. He didn't know when, or why he'd gained the ability to bleed, but he knew it frightened him. Panicked, he pleaded with Isaac- he begged the man to remember him. To remember their games- all the fun they'd had. But Isaac wouldn't listen- his intent was only on killing off the being that had appeared before him. The more Chrome pleaded, the more the box was stabbed and the more he bled. He was confused, and so utterly afraid of what was happening.

Isaac had been his friend- nearest, dearest friend. He pleaded further, and struggled to approach the man. Eventually, there came the response that changed everything.

"We're not friends you fucking monster! Die!"

Isaac shouted those words at the top of his lungs as he lifted the box above his head, intent on smashing it against the floor. Something spiked in the back of the clowns mind- the memories of his torment flooded his system. He reacted. The sound of something wet splashing onto the floor hit his ears. He peered down, to find red coating the black claws of his hand. His intention, had only been to stop Isaac- but in his haste, he'd done so much more. His claws had hit the mans throat. He'd killed, his closest friend- who'd denied their friendship mere moments prior to it. The holes covering his body seemed to disappear as if they'd never been there, but the blood remained.

"No!..."

That was the only word Chrome had the mind to say as he gazed upon the lifeless form of Isaac. Everything he ever wanted- he'd destroyed it himself. All the plans he'd made on playing the game Isaac loved so much, had been made impossible. All the ideas he'd hope to share, were no longer valid without him around. The things he'd hoped to do- hoped to say. None of it, could ever happen. He picked up his box with trembling hands, and did his best to clean it. The wood, to his surprise, seemed intact. The paint however, bore holes where the knife had been rammed through. Something broke deep inside him. He became painfully aware of how utterly empty he felt without his beloved Isaac near. He fled.

People came after, and found Isaac dead. Some called it suicide, others deemed it murder- but none could prove it...

For centuries after, Chrome roamed the world. The shock of all he had endured effected him. He came to know only anger, and fear. He attacked when people drew near- be it because of hatred for them, or because he feared they may be able to harm him. None crossed his path and managed to walk away alive. For three hundred and twenty seven years, that was his life. However, at some point after that, he began to calm. The desire for friendship- longing for a comforting hand to hold. It crept back into him, reminding him why he existed in the first place. He came to convince himself, that he could find someone willing to be his friend.

Someone that would give him what Isaac wouldn't. Loyalty, trust, and love. That was what he wanted, and he was perfectly willing to give it in turn. Time passed, he gradually found it within himself to try and trust people again. He made a move, when he found a place with lots of children for him to play with. Surely, he thought, there would be at least one who'd be willing to see him as a friend- and not as a monster. At first, the children were weary of him. He became discouraged, but as he made a move to leave- one lone boy grasped his clawed hand. He was, dumbfounded. The boy had come to him without fear, and then pulled him towards the nervous group.

He was hesitant, nervous- no longer accustomed to being treated nicely. For weeks he returned. The boy gladly pulled him towards the group, who slowly became more comfortable with him. They taught him how to play their games- he showed them his tricks when he felt comfortable. The process was slow- it took years for him to come to terms with what it felt like to have someone hold him. He stayed with the group well into their teen years, and he appeared only for them. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt confident enough of their friendship to trust them with the tale of his past. Late on night, he sat with them as they camped.

They listened to him intently as he told them the story of how he came to be- and what he had become. As he did so, he slowly became less confident with their friendship. One by one, they dawned looks of horror. He struggled to keep his story going. They backed away from him, crying. He too, began to cry- the memories plagued him and he could sense it all about to start over again. By the end of his tale, they'd all abandoned him. They'd run screaming away from him- shouting "Monster" as they went. All, but one. That boy- the very one to first reach for him- stayed and held his hand. A feeling of relief overwhelmed him- and he happily hugged the boy.

He'd lost many while doing so, but he'd gained what he believed would be his closest friend. For years, they remained together. They visited, played. He watched the boy grow into a man, and was happy. But, not all could stay that way. There came a day- someone had hurt his dearest friend, and the rage he'd done so well to forget had returned. In a fit of anger, he sought out all who hurt his friend. As he did, the same words always met his ears.

"Heartless!"
"Monster!"

The words hit him hard and stuck with him through his enraged attacks, but he always did as he could to ignore it. They weren't his friend, and so their words didn't matter. He brushed them off, and went along his way. At first, all seemed fine. Then, there came his mistake. He went after someone else who'd hurt his friend- an older woman, who at the time he hadn't known to be his friends mother. His friend stumbled across the sight- and then, history repeated itself.

"Mom! You!.. You murderer! You heartless monster, what have you done?!"

Those words hit him like a bullet. He didn't know what happened after- it was as if he'd blinked. One second the man was looking up at him, hate in his eyes. The next, he was wide eyed and dead in a pool of his own blood. A scream rang endlessly in Chrome's ears, and he slowly moved throughout the house in a daze.

"Heartless. Monster"

The words repeated themselves in his head without end, slowly driving him to madness. No! That wasn't true. It wasn't true! He wasn't a monster. Monsters didn't feel- they didn't love. They didn't want someone to just sit and talk to them, or to be their friend. Monsters were beasts of hell! He was a gift from angels! Whatever the fuck a monster was, it. Wasn't. Him. Or, was it?.. He looked around, to find himself standing in front of a mirror. He, certainly looked the part of a monster. He cut into his arm, and watched as his nearly black blood seeped from the wound. He bled though- did monsters bleed? He'd read stories, their blood was green in them.

Surely that meant he wasn't a monster, right?.. His mind wondered to the words that played. "Heartless". They seemed to believe that monsters were creatures that didn't have hearts. Tears of rage and despair rolled down his cheeks. He, didn't have a heart, did he? Just, stuffing. Blood and stuffing. But, he was magic right? Didn't that mean he could just, give himself a heart? Unsure, he removed the cloth that kept his upper half covered, and he removed his bandages. Slowly, he dragged a claw down his skin to tear his body open. From just below the neck, all the way down he cut himself- and he held the wound open so that it would not heal.

He willed it that he'd have a heart- but, that was the only thing he couldn't seem to form. He felt it- his bloody stuffing formed solid lumps of no real shape. He knew the lumps were to act as organs. One was a stomach, another his lung. They were only there for the illusion of it- but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make a heart form. Pain rose in him, and he released his open wound to watch as it closed and mended. He eventually stopped bleeding, and tears streamed down his face. Everything, but a heart. He wasn't allowed the ONE thing he wanted to create within himself. He clenched his claws and bit deep into his lip. No! He'd have a heart. He just had to find one.

And, find one he did. He roamed that town top to bottom searching for a heart- one that suited his liking. He couldn't find any inside the humans, or the animals. Instead, he found one in the place he least expected. When passing through a small thrift shop, he spotted it. A glass heart- roughly the size of a plum. He picked it up, to find that it shimmered rainbows in the light. Rainbow- what he had once been. A smile graced his lips at the sight of it, and he cut into his chest intent on putting his newfound heart where it belonged. He nestled it inside his bloody stuffing, and made sure to put it in the perfect place. Yet, his body seemed to not want it there- the wound refused to close.

So, he took some black thread and proceeded to stitch himself nice and tight. Then, he held a hand over the line of stitches, and smiled contently. Now, he had a heart. That meant no matter what, if someone called him a monster, it wasn't true...

Now, Chrome has come quite far in terms of accepting things. He's all but rejected his old nickname- now taking to either being called Jack, or "Clueless", as the zombie children like to refer to him. They seemed to have given him the nickname in response to how he was in modern times- which, was clueless. He doesn't know the new definitions of most words, so he tends to take them out of the intended context. He views Valentines day as a day where people start wanting to rip each-others hearts out, and more often than not a figure of speech will fly right over his head. This of course makes him very confused- which, he doesn't like because it reminds him of what happened with Isaac all those years ago.

As of now, he's more or less embraced killing as a means of gaining new friends that can never leave him. He takes them from whatever age he deems fit. Kills outside intent of new family, are usually sloppy so he turns the bodies into candy for sake of treating himself to the taste of blood. Sure, he lacks the creativity of his "Best friend" in that regard, but he's content with it. As a bonus, he's developed a lasting love of cats. Can't help but kill them to add them to the family whenever they cross his path. After all- if it hadn't been for the incident with the cat, dear old Isaac never would have been sent away. He never would have been locked in his box, or experienced any of what he experienced.

He'd be a monster today, if not for what had happened to the cat then. Because, he didn't have a heart when he had his colors either~
Hell, he'd even found his own style. He made his eyes silver for some flare, put some silver feathers on his shoulders. He had a few other piercings, but the earring was the only noticeable one. Sure, he had some scars- but he didn't mind. He could remove the stitches on his chest if he wanted, but he actually liked them. Made him more, unique~
He took his carnival wherever he wanted, let his family do as they pleased. He was free to laze about, but left whenever he needed some physical love or wanted a new family member. Life, as a whole, was good.
Even if the memories, were torture.

Description
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The tale of my Laughing Jack for my blog a-laughing-clown-of-monochrome

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Just as with all Jack's, Chrome was created by an angel for the purpose of being the eternal friend of Isaac Grossman. The story is practically the same as any other, up until the point of Isaac having to lock him in his box. The only major difference being that the young Grossman gave his friend the nickname of "Chrome", because it suited the clowns "Flashy" personality. Because he cared for his little friend very much, the clown happily accepted and embraced the nickname. Upon being locked in his box and abandoned by his Isaac though, his story becomes very different than that of the other Jack's. To jump ahead a bit, he was trapped in his box for twenty three years, instead of thirteen.

However, one needs to know what happened during those twenty three years, before they can know what happened after. So, here we go. As most would know, Isaac's father was a drunk. For twelve years the clown was left alone in his box, watching as the elder Grossman beat his wife then drank himself into a coma. At first, the sight of it frightened him. Being the lighthearted, rainbow version of himself that he was, the sight of anger and tears made him tremble. For years he was forced to watch and endure the horrid sights, which played their part in making his colors fade and his hands darken. His fingers had shifted to claws within the first four years.

So whenever he tried to hug himself as an act of self comfort, he unintentionally dug into his back and sides from how tight his grip was. He didn't bleed per say, because he didn't have organs nor had he willed himself able to do so, but cotton would show through the wounds until they eventually closed. Sadly, due to how often he tore into himself, his body eventually kept the scars of the wounds because it grew tired of becoming new. Eleven years of this, and eventually Chrome took to sitting on his hands when he was frightened so that he wouldn't hurt himself anymore. After those eleven years, Isaac's father lost his job and in doing so lost his means of supporting his drinking habits.

Naturally, the man fell obsessed with trying to make enough money for a drink. He took to selling anything and everything he could that resided in the house. He started with the furniture in the lower rooms, and the moved his way up. Trinkets, paintings, heirlooms. If it wasn't attached to the house itself, he took it out to town and sold it. Eventually, Chrome's box wound up being hoisted off. He was taken out of the environment he'd been so used to seeing for nearly twelve years, and for the first time in what felt like eons to him he saw the outside world. Hope swelled inside the clown as he watched Isaac's father work on trying to sell him.

He was still very loyal to Isaac at that time, and wanted nothing more than to return to his side. In his eyes, if he was sold to someone and that person played with the box, he'd be freed and able to rush to the younger Grossman's side to be with him once more. His sense of hope only continued to grow as he was bought, and taken to another house that he realized was in the same neighborhood as Isaac's. He was quickly handed off to a child- a little girl- who took him to her room with the intentions of playing. At the time, he'd been so excited to have a child play with his box- because he thought he'd finally be set free. Sadly, that didn't turn out to be the case.

The girl wound the box, and his eagerness for freedom only grew. To him, as soon as the box opened he'd be free and he could go and find his precious friend. The music played, and for the first time in eons a genuine smile was upon his face. The music ended, and his smile fell. It fell, because the box he called prison didn't open. Whatever sense of hope he had, shattered into millions of pieces. Had hadn't known prior to that, that only his beloved Isaac could open his box. Only Isaac could lock him away, only Isaac could free him- and only Isaac could destroy him. What followed suit, played its part in destroying the clown bit by bit inside.

The girl complained to her father about the toy not working, and in response the man attempted to "Fix" the box himself. That, was torture to Chrome. The man removed screws from the box- which to the clown felt as if his limbs were being ripped off. He screamed and shouted, and begged for the man to stop- but none could hear his voice. When the box didn't fall to pieces after having the screws removed, the man attempted to smash it against the wall. Again, it would not crumble- but the blow was the equivalent of dropping a ten ton boulder on a human man. Chrome couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. All he could do was convulse in pain whenever the man attempted to do more to the box.

When he came to realize he couldn't do anything with it, he proceeded to seek out Isaac's father to demand his money back. Of course, the drunkard had no money to return- he'd spent it all on booze immediately after getting it. A fight broke out because the idiot drunk threw a blow. Chrome had to watch as two adult men viciously attacked each other- and he couldn't do anything to drown out to sounds of Isaac's mother screaming and pleading. Blood was shed. Isaac's father was pinned just next to the box and beaten to a pulp. Blood splashed out of his bleeding mouth and nose, giving part of the box a coating of it. The blood seeped into the wood, and pooled around the frightened, hurting clown.

It was around that time, that his mind became painted with thoughts of blood. Not just because he witnessed the brutal murder of Isaac's father- but because elsewhere in the world, Isaac himself finally snapped and drew innocent blood. After the murder of Isaac's father, the man held responsible was jailed. His mother remarried- and the man she came to call husband treated her better by default because he wasn't a drunk. But, that came with its own quirks. The man was against pointless possessions. Anything without use- such as toys, and pictures- were to be destroyed. That was when Chrome, was first introduced to the burn of a flame.

The man threw him into a fire. For what felt like an eternity he struggled in the searing heat- but his box did not burn. It stayed in tact until the fire went out, and to his relieve Isaac's mother seemed to take pity on him. Or rather, she'd decided to try and save the one remaining item that could remind her of her son. Seeing as her first husband had sold all else, the box was all that remained. She took the box up to Isaac's vacant room, and hid it in the closet behind the blankets. For weeks after that, she returned whenever able to try and work the box back to its original beauty. To her, it was just an attempt at salvaging something of her sons childhood.

To Chrome, who hadn't known a gentle act in over a decade, it was an act of kindness. The paint she applied to the blackened surface of the box was the equivalent of wrapping his burns with gauze. Fixing the jammed crank like easing the tension of locked joints. Everything just made him feel better- and it gave him just enough light to fight off the darkness that grew inside he and Isaac. He was connected to the male, who'd undoubtedly become an adult if he knew time correctly, but without him near the change was slow. The magic connecting them had its limits- and because Isaac had forgotten about him, the magic struggled to keep their personalities joined.

Granted, he didn't know that he'd just become a distant dream of the mans childhood. From there, the clown knew no physical pain- but he knew emotional. Thirteen years after Isaac had left- after Chrome had been locked in his box- Isaac's mother and her new husband fell ill. Pneumonia, that's the word he remembered the doctors calling it. While he didn't care much for the man who had thrown him in the fire, watching the women that had so gingerly cared for him die was another thing. He hadn't known her in real terms, but he'd still cared for her. So watching her die, broke something inside him. Not being beside her when it happened, had made the experience so much worse.

He watched as her body was hauled away. Saw countless people come and go- only to suddenly rush away. A familiar presence came into the house- but the distress had prevented him from knowing who exactly it belonged too. That is, until that person eventually came to stand before his very eyes. Isaac- his Isaac, had come home. Oh, how he'd changed. His wild eyes had lost their curious glow- they'd dimmed and sunken in from the hardships of life. He was thin, and almost looked sickly. His blonde hair was unkempt and greasy, and he had a beard starting to grown on his face. All of this shocked the clown- but at the same time he was overjoyed.

Isaac had come home. He knew, in time, that he'd be free again. From there, the next ten years were spent waiting and watching. Isaac moved into his childhood home, but he rarely entered his old room. For the first four years after his return, at least. Come the seventeenth year of being trapped in his box, Chrome watched curiously as Isaac entered his old room with a sickly looking woman who wore oddly revealing garbs. For a while, he watched their odd behavior- noted the strange ways they touched one another. Granted, this hadn't been the first time he'd seen Isaac come into the room with a woman. Wasn't the first time he'd seen them touch places and connect matching pieces.

While he didn't really understand it personally, he held enough of a connection with the male to know that it was a good act- that it felt nice. This time though, things took another turn. Something went wrong- Chrome didn't know what, but it seemed to make Isaac angry. That, in turn, triggered some anger within the clown. Isaac shouted at the woman about something- about finding a ring in her clothes. She responded in tears, and said something about needing to do it so her husband could have his drinks. The claims only made Isaac angrier, and before Chrome or the poor woman were aware of what was happening, the sound of a crack rang through the room.

Chrome stared in utter shock. Isaac had grabbed something- it looked like one of the few bricks that had come loose from the wall. Blood dripped off the stone, and pooled around the head of the woman who lied motionless on the floor. Just one hit, and that was it. Isaac had killed the woman- but instead of seeming afraid, he seemed annoyed. Confusion hit the clown for a moment, but as he witnessed what Isaac did after their connection slowly made him understand- and enjoy- what had just happened. As things would turn out, Isaac had taken to murder as a hobby- it had started as a means of dealing with his bullies, but over time it progressed.

The annoyance Chrome had felt, was because the woman had not been an intended target. That didn't keep Isaac from enjoying what he did after. The clown couldn't help but watch in awe as his eternal friend went about the process of making her into a chair. How he cut her body into segments, and peeled away her skin and flesh to dry them into leather. Every detail, from making the legs to finding the best shape and putting it together. Chrome watched it all with the utmost delight. In the six years that followed before his freedom was restored, the clown witnessed so much more. Isaac killed at least twelve more people in that room- and Chrome couldn't help but feel pride as he watched.

His dear Isaac was such a creative lad. He made spoons and knives from hand and finger bones. He made leather for binding books from skin and muscle. He scraped the fat from the bodies to make his own soap. He took the organs of his victims and ground them up to make food- but he never ate it. Chrome never did learn what Isaac did with the ground organ meat, but he eventually came to assume that he used it to feed his guests. Isaac invited people to his home frequently for the sake of gaining a good reputation. During those years though, it became apparent that Isaac gradually began to take after his father. He drank himself to sleep at least once a month.

That was how Isaac eventually came to find the box when he did. He'd finished off his beer for the night, then stumbled upstairs and taken a wrong turn to enter the room. He hadn't bothered doing anything with the closet prior to that night- though he'd taken to using it to store the various items he used while making artwork of corpses. That night though, he'd taken an interest in the dusty blankets that hid the box from plain view. It had gotten oddly cold that night because the man had forgotten to light the fire, so he wanted the extra covers for his bed. When he roughly yanked down the blankets, the box came toppling out with them.

That was when Chrome began to truly feel hope again. Isaac picked up the box, and stumbled over to his "Work area" to examine it. A laugh left him, and he proceeded to play the music to drunkenly sing "Pop goes the weasel" as it sounded off. The box opened. Chrome was overjoyed to have his freedom back and he appeared before his friend, the happiest he'd been in nearly two and a half decades. However, the expression Isaac gave him wasn't one of joy- of happily being reunited with his childhood friend. It was one of absolute fear. Isaac screamed at the sight of him, and not knowing what else to do the clown grabbed at him to cover his mouth.

That, was when he first noticed what had happened to his hand. Bewildered, he turned to peer into his reflection in the window- and his joy sank at the sight of himself. He'd, changed. His colors were gone- he was all, black and white. So, plain. But he looked horrific. His teeth, when had they grown so sharp? When had his hands blackened into such eerie looking claws? Fear flooded his system at the sight of himself, and he let go of Isaac who scrambled to get away from him. When he did so, a knife from atop the work desk fell- it landed in the wood of the box. A pained gasp left him, and he grasped at his abdomen to find "Blood" seeping from a hole that had appeared when the knife hit his box.

Despite being drunk, Isaac put two and two together. To Chrome's dismay, he grabbed the box and began to stab at it with the knife. Every jab triggered pain, and blood began to seep from the holes that appeared on the clowns body. He didn't know when, or why he'd gained the ability to bleed, but he knew it frightened him. Panicked, he pleaded with Isaac- he begged the man to remember him. To remember their games- all the fun they'd had. But Isaac wouldn't listen- his intent was only on killing off the being that had appeared before him. The more Chrome pleaded, the more the box was stabbed and the more he bled. He was confused, and so utterly afraid of what was happening.

Isaac had been his friend- nearest, dearest friend. He pleaded further, and struggled to approach the man. Eventually, there came the response that changed everything.

"We're not friends you fucking monster! Die!"

Isaac shouted those words at the top of his lungs as he lifted the box above his head, intent on smashing it against the floor. Something spiked in the back of the clowns mind- the memories of his torment flooded his system. He reacted. The sound of something wet splashing onto the floor hit his ears. He peered down, to find red coating the black claws of his hand. His intention, had only been to stop Isaac- but in his haste, he'd done so much more. His claws had hit the mans throat. He'd killed, his closest friend- who'd denied their friendship mere moments prior to it. The holes covering his body seemed to disappear as if they'd never been there, but the blood remained.

"No!..."

That was the only word Chrome had the mind to say as he gazed upon the lifeless form of Isaac. Everything he ever wanted- he'd destroyed it himself. All the plans he'd made on playing the game Isaac loved so much, had been made impossible. All the ideas he'd hope to share, were no longer valid without him around. The things he'd hoped to do- hoped to say. None of it, could ever happen. He picked up his box with trembling hands, and did his best to clean it. The wood, to his surprise, seemed intact. The paint however, bore holes where the knife had been rammed through. Something broke deep inside him. He became painfully aware of how utterly empty he felt without his beloved Isaac near. He fled.

People came after, and found Isaac dead. Some called it suicide, others deemed it murder- but none could prove it...

For centuries after, Chrome roamed the world. The shock of all he had endured effected him. He came to know only anger, and fear. He attacked when people drew near- be it because of hatred for them, or because he feared they may be able to harm him. None crossed his path and managed to walk away alive. For three hundred and twenty seven years, that was his life. However, at some point after that, he began to calm. The desire for friendship- longing for a comforting hand to hold. It crept back into him, reminding him why he existed in the first place. He came to convince himself, that he could find someone willing to be his friend.

Someone that would give him what Isaac wouldn't. Loyalty, trust, and love. That was what he wanted, and he was perfectly willing to give it in turn. Time passed, he gradually found it within himself to try and trust people again. He made a move, when he found a place with lots of children for him to play with. Surely, he thought, there would be at least one who'd be willing to see him as a friend- and not as a monster. At first, the children were weary of him. He became discouraged, but as he made a move to leave- one lone boy grasped his clawed hand. He was, dumbfounded. The boy had come to him without fear, and then pulled him towards the nervous group.

He was hesitant, nervous- no longer accustomed to being treated nicely. For weeks he returned. The boy gladly pulled him towards the group, who slowly became more comfortable with him. They taught him how to play their games- he showed them his tricks when he felt comfortable. The process was slow- it took years for him to come to terms with what it felt like to have someone hold him. He stayed with the group well into their teen years, and he appeared only for them. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt confident enough of their friendship to trust them with the tale of his past. Late on night, he sat with them as they camped.

They listened to him intently as he told them the story of how he came to be- and what he had become. As he did so, he slowly became less confident with their friendship. One by one, they dawned looks of horror. He struggled to keep his story going. They backed away from him, crying. He too, began to cry- the memories plagued him and he could sense it all about to start over again. By the end of his tale, they'd all abandoned him. They'd run screaming away from him- shouting "Monster" as they went. All, but one. That boy- the very one to first reach for him- stayed and held his hand. A feeling of relief overwhelmed him- and he happily hugged the boy.

He'd lost many while doing so, but he'd gained what he believed would be his closest friend. For years, they remained together. They visited, played. He watched the boy grow into a man, and was happy. But, not all could stay that way. There came a day- someone had hurt his dearest friend, and the rage he'd done so well to forget had returned. In a fit of anger, he sought out all who hurt his friend. As he did, the same words always met his ears.

"Heartless!"
"Monster!"

The words hit him hard and stuck with him through his enraged attacks, but he always did as he could to ignore it. They weren't his friend, and so their words didn't matter. He brushed them off, and went along his way. At first, all seemed fine. Then, there came his mistake. He went after someone else who'd hurt his friend- an older woman, who at the time he hadn't known to be his friends mother. His friend stumbled across the sight- and then, history repeated itself.

"Mom! You!.. You murderer! You heartless monster, what have you done?!"

Those words hit him like a bullet. He didn't know what happened after- it was as if he'd blinked. One second the man was looking up at him, hate in his eyes. The next, he was wide eyed and dead in a pool of his own blood. A scream rang endlessly in Chrome's ears, and he slowly moved throughout the house in a daze.

"Heartless. Monster"

The words repeated themselves in his head without end, slowly driving him to madness. No! That wasn't true. It wasn't true! He wasn't a monster. Monsters didn't feel- they didn't love. They didn't want someone to just sit and talk to them, or to be their friend. Monsters were beasts of hell! He was a gift from angels! Whatever the fuck a monster was, it. Wasn't. Him. Or, was it?.. He looked around, to find himself standing in front of a mirror. He, certainly looked the part of a monster. He cut into his arm, and watched as his nearly black blood seeped from the wound. He bled though- did monsters bleed? He'd read stories, their blood was green in them.

Surely that meant he wasn't a monster, right?.. His mind wondered to the words that played. "Heartless". They seemed to believe that monsters were creatures that didn't have hearts. Tears of rage and despair rolled down his cheeks. He, didn't have a heart, did he? Just, stuffing. Blood and stuffing. But, he was magic right? Didn't that mean he could just, give himself a heart? Unsure, he removed the cloth that kept his upper half covered, and he removed his bandages. Slowly, he dragged a claw down his skin to tear his body open. From just below the neck, all the way down he cut himself- and he held the wound open so that it would not heal.

He willed it that he'd have a heart- but, that was the only thing he couldn't seem to form. He felt it- his bloody stuffing formed solid lumps of no real shape. He knew the lumps were to act as organs. One was a stomach, another his lung. They were only there for the illusion of it- but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make a heart form. Pain rose in him, and he released his open wound to watch as it closed and mended. He eventually stopped bleeding, and tears streamed down his face. Everything, but a heart. He wasn't allowed the ONE thing he wanted to create within himself. He clenched his claws and bit deep into his lip. No! He'd have a heart. He just had to find one.

And, find one he did. He roamed that town top to bottom searching for a heart- one that suited his liking. He couldn't find any inside the humans, or the animals. Instead, he found one in the place he least expected. When passing through a small thrift shop, he spotted it. A glass heart- roughly the size of a plum. He picked it up, to find that it shimmered rainbows in the light. Rainbow- what he had once been. A smile graced his lips at the sight of it, and he cut into his chest intent on putting his newfound heart where it belonged. He nestled it inside his bloody stuffing, and made sure to put it in the perfect place. Yet, his body seemed to not want it there- the wound refused to close.

So, he took some black thread and proceeded to stitch himself nice and tight. Then, he held a hand over the line of stitches, and smiled contently. Now, he had a heart. That meant no matter what, if someone called him a monster, it wasn't true...

Now, Chrome has come quite far in terms of accepting things. He's all but rejected his old nickname- now taking to either being called Jack, or "Clueless", as the zombie children like to refer to him. They seemed to have given him the nickname in response to how he was in modern times- which, was clueless. He doesn't know the new definitions of most words, so he tends to take them out of the intended context. He views Valentines day as a day where people start wanting to rip each-others hearts out, and more often than not a figure of speech will fly right over his head. This of course makes him very confused- which, he doesn't like because it reminds him of what happened with Isaac all those years ago.

As of now, he's more or less embraced killing as a means of gaining new friends that can never leave him. He takes them from whatever age he deems fit. Kills outside intent of new family, are usually sloppy so he turns the bodies into candy for sake of treating himself to the taste of blood. Sure, he lacks the creativity of his "Best friend" in that regard, but he's content with it. As a bonus, he's developed a lasting love of cats. Can't help but kill them to add them to the family whenever they cross his path. After all- if it hadn't been for the incident with the cat, dear old Isaac never would have been sent away. He never would have been locked in his box, or experienced any of what he experienced.

He'd be a monster today, if not for what had happened to the cat then. Because, he didn't have a heart when he had his colors either~
Hell, he'd even found his own style. He made his eyes silver for some flare, put some silver feathers on his shoulders. He had a few other piercings, but the earring was the only noticeable one. Sure, he had some scars- but he didn't mind. He could remove the stitches on his chest if he wanted, but he actually liked them. Made him more, unique~
He took his carnival wherever he wanted, let his family do as they pleased. He was free to laze about, but left whenever he needed some physical love or wanted a new family member. Life, as a whole, was good.
Even if the memories, were torture.