Cracked

Sometimes bad things need to be reminded they're not the only ones who can bite.

Like any fatherless child, I've wondered about the man responsible for the glory that is me. Needless to say, it's disappointing to learn he's the kind who'd probably eat his young.

Naivety is cured with time. Stupidity is terminal.

I'm pretty sure Jo couldn't talk about the weather without somehow including a threat. Forecast today: cloudy with a chance I'll kick your ass.

They fight with a bloodthirstiness I wouldn't expect outside a maximum-security prison or suburban PTA meeting.

Crush! Kill! And above all - cackle!

Death is my art form--when I fight, I'm a ballerina. Graceful. Chi lacks my grace, but makes up for it in energy and enthusiasm. His fighting style is like breakdancing--strong and frenetic with some really sweet moves. Jo's is . . .the Macarena. Ugly but gets the job done.

Chi's faith means nothing, because it has nothing to do with me. Chi's faith is blind. He doesn't see me. But Jo does. Jo always has.

I'm pretty durable, but concrete and I have faced off before. While I didn't die, I wouldn't say I won, either.

Samson's tapping feet come closer, but again he pauses and knocks on a door. I don't mind. The pauses make it better. They make me wonder whether he's going to come to me, like the anticipation before a kiss. Will he or won't he? But this is not a love story.

A human teenager. One of God’s most misbegotten creatures – big like grown-ups and yet dumb like children.

I study the little creature in front of me. What is it about these dwarfish little humans? They lack smarts, lack skills and they never seem to have much money. Yet they are powerful little monsters – adults dance to the tunes played by their chubby little fingers. Is it the disproportionately big head? Or the eyes too big for that head? Did I have this effect on my own mother? Was that why she believed in my goodness, despite all evidence to the contrary? Suddenly the lower lip pokes out and the eyes grow even bigger. I feel a tug in the region where my heart should be… I want to give it things… Ahhhhhh! Look away! Look away! Evil, ensnaring, hypnotic monster. Just kidding, but it is kind of cute. I feed it a cracker.

Your death, strange human. I mean, your injury. No murder, just a little maiming. So I can leave. Maiming’s not so bad.

The cold never bothers me when I’m filled with the hot soup of bad souls. Nevertheless I make a show of shivering. Chi strips off his leather vest and I hold it as he peels off his hoodie, pulling his shirt up with it. I get an eyeful of carved six-pack abs and bite back a whistle. Demon-hunting must be good for the physique. The looks of an angel and yet all it makes me want to do is sin.

Jo turns towards me. Her voice is calm but now I see her eyes blaze in a holy hazel fire. She doesn’t want to die, but she will, for what she believes in. I need new friends.

But worries are for people who can’t pull grown men apart with their bare hands.

Those of us who live with twisted bits like to think we can overcome them.

I eye the three of them, considering. They’ll need a lesson in discretion before I go. Not a lethal lesson. Mom wouldn’t like that.

Turns out I’m only ‘mom-special’. Special like a snowflake is special. Special like a school kid on honor roll.

I hear myself laughing, screeching, cackling. The world is red hot and pulsing. On fire [...] I stroll down the corridor and the flickering fluorescents celebrate my passing, humming in praise. I spin, bow and hum along. Bloody footprints trail; bloody fingers smear the walls.

My teeth rip skin; my jaws snap bones. I am fast, lightning-fast, snuff— oh-was-that-your-life?—oh-was-that-your-life?— fast.

As parties go, the food is good but the hosts are complete assholes.

The pauses make it better. They make me wonder whether he's going to come to me, like the anticipation before a kiss. Will he or won't he? But this is not a love story.

He moves and my eyes snap open, freezing him in place. "You're right. I am like you." I breathe, then shake my head very slowly, holding his eyes. "But that doesn't help you any.

Oooooh, don’t make her mad!” the leader gasps around his laughter.

And as for my mom, whatever happened, whatever her reasons were, they don’t really matter anymore other than as a way to know her better. She loved me, no matter what, in her own way. And everyone has their own way.

They don’t hate each other, they’ve just hurt each other.” Not what I expect from a thirteen-year-old kid. I raise my eyebrows. “What?” he says defensively, “You can’t hate someone you’d be willing to die for.

I give it a shot. “Relax,” I whisper. “You’re already dead.” Her eyes fill with tears and I roll mine. Ghosts.

All right – love of my life, but that’s kind of a mouthful. One day, let’s just shorten it to ‘wife’.” Even I find that frightening, and it wasn’t directed at me.

My morality is almost a contortionist.