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Description

    “Hello mother.”
    Jamie started in her seat, knee bumping painfully against the underside of her desk as she sat back, hissing through her teeth and looking over her shoulder. She clutched her knee as she watched Trickster finish materializing out of the shadows on the wall, taking her backpack with her. “Heyo, kiddo.” Jamie greeted cheerfully, giving her knee a pat. “Not your mom.” She reminded as an afterthought, leaning back in her seat. “How was school?”
    The young shadow hybrid set her bag down on the couch, opening it and beginning to pull out notebooks and textbooks. “Today we learned about similes in English class.”
    “Oh yeah?” Jamie began putting away her papers and photos of latest hit requests as casually as possible, in case Trickster decided to wander over and see what she was doing. Explaining why she was drawing red x’s over pictures of people’s faces last time had been awkward, considering Jamie had taught her that both murder and lying was bad. “That sounds...pretty English-y.”
    “Yes.” Trickster agreed, sitting down on the couch and opening her notebook. “We have to write a poem with them for our homework.”
    Jamie saw fit to bite down on her lip as hard as possible to keep back a laugh at the thought of a nine-year-old Shadow creature writing poetry. Was that racist? It was probably racist. And racism was rude. Yes, Trickster had a hunger for human flesh that couldn’t be helped, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some sort of...soft emotional side...or whatever it was that drove poets to do what they did. “Is uh...is that so?” The assassin cleared her throat and finished neatly hiding away evidence of her career, “What’re you gonna write it about?”
    “I already wrote it during lunch time. I had nothing else to do.” Trickster opened her blue notebook and flipped several pages. “Would you like to hear it?”
    Oh no.
    Jamie took in a silent, deep breath and gave an overly casual shrug, taking a seat on the couch next to the girl. “Sure, Tricky. Emote to me.”
    Trickster blinked slowly as she located the page, and began reading aloud in a monotone.
    “My eyes are black like a black crayon.
    I like to eat meat like a lion that eats meat.
    I run fast like a person that runs fast.
    Shadow travel is cold like an ice cube.
    My hair is long like something that is also long.
    My teeth are sharp like a stabbing knife used for stabbing.
    I used to bite like a bad dog but now I don’t bite anymore because I am not bad like a bad dog.
    The amount of lines I have to write is ten like the number of dots dice add up to sometimes.
    This is line number nine like a six that is upside down and backwards also.
    The amount of fun I am having now is like air in space.”
    Trickster continued staring at the dark lines of graphite in front of her for a few moments longer after finishing. Jamie held both hands over her mouth, eyes narrowed to squints and watering as she held her breath. Her brow was deeply furrowed like she was concentrating intensely on the beautiful symbolism presented to her.
    Abruptly Trickster snapped the notebook shut. “I don’t like English class.”
    “....so uhm..”
    “Yes. You may.”
    Jamie slowly tipped off the couch and onto the floor, laughing so hard and so immediately that her chest immediately began to ache.
    Trickster observed her and then smiled widely, giggling. “Remember to breathe, mother.” She reminded, taking her bag and going to her room before Jamie could find the air to gasp a protest. Maybe Jamie didn’t consider herself to be a mother, but Trickster knew better.
    Jamie made her lunches, like a mother. Jamie brushed her hair, like a mother. Jamie played games with her, like a mother.
    Jamie was like a mother.
    Trickster didn’t like English class. But she did like Jamie. She liked Jamie very much.

Description

    “Hello mother.”
    Jamie started in her seat, knee bumping painfully against the underside of her desk as she sat back, hissing through her teeth and looking over her shoulder. She clutched her knee as she watched Trickster finish materializing out of the shadows on the wall, taking her backpack with her. “Heyo, kiddo.” Jamie greeted cheerfully, giving her knee a pat. “Not your mom.” She reminded as an afterthought, leaning back in her seat. “How was school?”
    The young shadow hybrid set her bag down on the couch, opening it and beginning to pull out notebooks and textbooks. “Today we learned about similes in English class.”
    “Oh yeah?” Jamie began putting away her papers and photos of latest hit requests as casually as possible, in case Trickster decided to wander over and see what she was doing. Explaining why she was drawing red x’s over pictures of people’s faces last time had been awkward, considering Jamie had taught her that both murder and lying was bad. “That sounds...pretty English-y.”
    “Yes.” Trickster agreed, sitting down on the couch and opening her notebook. “We have to write a poem with them for our homework.”
    Jamie saw fit to bite down on her lip as hard as possible to keep back a laugh at the thought of a nine-year-old Shadow creature writing poetry. Was that racist? It was probably racist. And racism was rude. Yes, Trickster had a hunger for human flesh that couldn’t be helped, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some sort of...soft emotional side...or whatever it was that drove poets to do what they did. “Is uh...is that so?” The assassin cleared her throat and finished neatly hiding away evidence of her career, “What’re you gonna write it about?”
    “I already wrote it during lunch time. I had nothing else to do.” Trickster opened her blue notebook and flipped several pages. “Would you like to hear it?”
    Oh no.
    Jamie took in a silent, deep breath and gave an overly casual shrug, taking a seat on the couch next to the girl. “Sure, Tricky. Emote to me.”
    Trickster blinked slowly as she located the page, and began reading aloud in a monotone.
    “My eyes are black like a black crayon.
    I like to eat meat like a lion that eats meat.
    I run fast like a person that runs fast.
    Shadow travel is cold like an ice cube.
    My hair is long like something that is also long.
    My teeth are sharp like a stabbing knife used for stabbing.
    I used to bite like a bad dog but now I don’t bite anymore because I am not bad like a bad dog.
    The amount of lines I have to write is ten like the number of dots dice add up to sometimes.
    This is line number nine like a six that is upside down and backwards also.
    The amount of fun I am having now is like air in space.”
    Trickster continued staring at the dark lines of graphite in front of her for a few moments longer after finishing. Jamie held both hands over her mouth, eyes narrowed to squints and watering as she held her breath. Her brow was deeply furrowed like she was concentrating intensely on the beautiful symbolism presented to her.
    Abruptly Trickster snapped the notebook shut. “I don’t like English class.”
    “....so uhm..”
    “Yes. You may.”
    Jamie slowly tipped off the couch and onto the floor, laughing so hard and so immediately that her chest immediately began to ache.
    Trickster observed her and then smiled widely, giggling. “Remember to breathe, mother.” She reminded, taking her bag and going to her room before Jamie could find the air to gasp a protest. Maybe Jamie didn’t consider herself to be a mother, but Trickster knew better.
    Jamie made her lunches, like a mother. Jamie brushed her hair, like a mother. Jamie played games with her, like a mother.
    Jamie was like a mother.
    Trickster didn’t like English class. But she did like Jamie. She liked Jamie very much.