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Love. What is love? Mahito thought to herself one afternoon in the long green field that sat behind her fake mom’s farm stables. Usually, she wouldn’t think of gross questions like that, especially on a warm spring day where the rain of the previous night caused the grass to be soft and muddy under her feet and the worms to be easily spotted for squashing. She should be finding ant hills to jump on, or bee nests to throw rocks at, but Uncle Jogo and Aunt Hanami were here today, and she had been roundly scolded when Jogo saw her disrupting the wildlife ecosystems. It’s not like she was keen on listening to his reprimands, or was at all intimidated by the rather small-built man, no, she was curious about something.
Jogo was sitting in the old near-broken rocking chair, wearing a yellow cape that shone too bright in the sun making the chair look like it was on fire. His short dark brown hair which should have been moving with the wind was covered in an unhealthy amount of gel and his large eyepatch was almost blocked from view by the smoke coming from the pipe in his mouth. He held a newspaper in his hands, fingers absentmindedly grazing over the edges, but his eye paid no attention to the words on the page. Instead, his view was focused on another figure just past Mahito to her right. A tall woman with brown hair (Mahito noted it was nearly half white, turning more pale with age, something she loved to point out to older people who seemed to get irritated by the observation) was silently tending to a garden of flowers. Mahito could have recognized her just by the look Jogo gave her, a look so pleased Mahito was convinced they must have been married the first time she met them. Hanami’s eyes were lowered to the point one might think they were closed, the effect amplified by the large scars crossing over her eyes. One of her arms was watering the plants with a pale green watering can, and the other held tight to her chest in a cast that no matter how much Mahito poked and prodded Hanami would not tell her how she got it. Hanami set the can back down and patted the earth around a new set of seeds she was planting. It seemed like she was completely in her own world, but looking closer Mahito could see a small smile on her face as her eyes moved to where Jogo was sitting for no more than a second before turning back.
Mahito let out a sigh. She just didn’t get how people could clutch to such a sick feeling, and Mahito hated it when she didn’t get something. With a swift step out of her hiding spot Mahito decided she would figure out for herself if love had any meaning at all or if, like usual, she was the only one who saw emotions as what they really were.
Sneaking up behind her fake uncle she grabbed his chair making the peaceful rocking stop as he jolted up and spun around instantly saying her name in a growl, not needing to see her to know who had interrupted his gazing. Mahito laughed, her silver pigtails bobbing in the wind as she stood up from the crouch she hid in. “Heyy Jogo! Whatcha doing?” She asked, crawling up on the railing space next to Jogos not-rocking chair.
Jogo grumbled to himself and drew back into the chair awkwardly, blush showing in the parts of his face not covered by fabric hair or wrinkles. “Just readin’ the paper,” He said with a grunt, holding the paper higher up and pointing to it as if to make a point.
Mahito nodded enthusiastically “Good to keep up with the times gramps. must be hard to read when your eye’s looking away from the paper though hmm?”
Jogo’s eye widened then narrowed as he scowled over the top of the newspaper. “Yeah, why don’t ya mind yer own business kid? Young people don't got any manners these days I swear.”
Typically Mahito would’ve shot back snarky remarks until Jogo gave up but today she was on a mission. “You love Hanami right?” She asked with a tilt of the head.
Jogo stared back embarrassed and irritated. “What’s it ta you?” He questioned back crossing his arms and setting the paper down.
Mahito smirked, she expected he’d be a bit tougher to crack but she was always good at getting into people's skin. “I don't get it” She answered with a false pout “How do you do it?”
Jogo blinked, his face turning from straight irritation to confusion mixed with annoyance “How do I… Do it? Ya don’t do love, and ya certainly don’t choose it… Ya aren’t pranking me again are ya? Fool me once shame on you but fool me twice shame on me!” He grunted and went to stand up as Mahito blocked his movements.
“Nooo, come onnnnn, I don't prank!” She said earnestly in a way that people who didn’t know her might have believed it. “Then how about…” She thought for a second “Why do you feel it?”
Jogo sighed as he slouched back down in the chair. “I don't know. It's just something you feel.” He tried to block Mahito's next questions by raising the newspaper back up but she grabbed the top and pulled it back down.
“But, why! I mean why Hanami? If you’re never gonna tell her why not just stop loving her?” Mahito pressed, looming over Jogo.
“If there's one thing worse than loving her, it’d be not loving her, and even if I wanted to stop I couldn’t” Jogo shot back, turning to look at Hanami in the distance “Shes a wonderful curse in that way” He continued, not being able to contain a smile.
“Oh ew gross yuck” Mahito spat moving away like the mushy feelings Jogo had were contagious.
She frowned once she regained her footing. The conversation was turning stale and she still hadn’t got a proper understanding of the whole mess. “Then, what if you don't feel it? Is it bad to not feel love?” Mahito asked as she looked back to Jogo.
Jogo raised his eyebrow as he took in the question. “That’s what this is about? You upset you don’t got a boyfriend or something?”
Mahito made a grossed-out face “Bleeeg no! That's how you get cooties! I was just wondering anyway, it’s ok if you don't have an answer.”
Jogo was silent for a second, a thoughtful look washed onto his face as he debated how to tackle the question. “There are people who don’t feel love, aint nothing wrong with that. But you don't gotta think so hard, you’re too young for it anyways, though I wouldn’t be surprised if your heart was too small to make room for lovin’ ” He added the joke in at the end, but meant it entirely.
“Hey! You’re one to talk ya old geezer” Mahito returned the insult but didn’t feel any joy she usually felt from making fun of Jogo. She sighed as she jumped down from the railing and walked past the now-back-to-rocking chair.
“Well im gonna get inside, this has been pretty useless,” Mahito said glumly as she headed for the cabin door.
“I'd say it was nice chatting with you kid but the pleasures all yours” Jogo replied in the distance, scowl etched into his words.
The farmhouse cabin was not small in any regard. It loomed over its surroundings like a predator waiting to strike, windows like eyes watching its prey. The dark wood made way to a bright lavish inside, leather furniture lay in perfect position as delicate patterns adorned the floor in the form of rugs, some in the shape of an animal misfortunate enough to venture out of the woods and into the field Mahito had just been standing in. Such rugs were Mahito’s favorite, a few years ago she had taken her fake mom’s shotgun off the wall and ran into the woods in search of a new rug so she could have one in her room. She lured a pretty white deer with soft brown spots into a clearing and prepared to make an easy bullseye, but the crunch of a leaf from beneath her foot had caused the deer to sprint off and the bullet just barely missed, lodging itself into the chest of a bunny passing by. She had been immensely disappointed–for she didnt want a bunny rug–and she trekked the path back to the cabin with a heavy sigh dragging the lifeless corpse behind her like a toy. Mahito expected her to be displeased, but when she arrived at the door her fake mother looked down at her with a smile and told her she was impressed by her catch. She picked Mahito and the bunny up and took them inside to set them down in the bathroom. As Mahito washed up, her fake mom told her she’d make the bunny into a fine rug that Mahito could have for her room, and when she eventually was able to shoot something bigger she could switch it out.
The chill of a stray wind flew through the hallway and seeped into the room, battling the still fireplace. Light streamed in from the windows targeting little specks of dust floating in the air like fairy wings. It was still daytime, but the sun had started making its crawl into the depths of the night. Her fake mother would be home soon.
When Mahito made her way into the city on boring days–with nothing better to do than torture the townsfolk–no one mentioned the cabin or even the clearing it resided in. No one recognized her or her fake aunt and uncle. They looked past her like she wasn’t worth their time. But they knew her fake mom. A lot of people seemed to know her in town, she was cunning and strong, and she knew how to make a good first impression, but back in the outskirts where the sheriff's department lay, she tended to make herself discrete. That's why she needed Mahito. She told her she couldn't get caught just yet, that she had a plan but plans take a long time.
Mahito knew her fake mom didn’t love her, but she cared about her strength. She knew Mahito was strong. She called her clever once, more clever than anyone she’d ever met. And I am very clever Mahito thought to herself, laying back on the buckskin couch and kicking off her shoes. She threw her feet onto the wooden ottoman, letting her heels sink into the red cushioned fabric on top, as she took her black cowboy hat off her head and played with the stitches embedded in it. Her mind wandered back to the question she had thought up a few hours ago. Like the bunny and the bullet, she couldn’t help but be disappointed with the answer Jogo had provided. You’ll understand when you’re older. She heard that response to enough questions to know it was just a placeholder for when an adult wouldn’t explain something, or couldn’t. She knew how people worked, how they avoided questions they didn’t want to answer or licked their lips through lies to please other people. She was good at mimicking these traits, so much so that she perfected the act of manipulation. She could get anything out of someone, she could get into their mind and play with their feelings like strings on a guitar. She understood how every feeling worked(nearly), in and out, and she used that to use other people. Everyone put such an emphasis on feelings but the only real feelings were hurt and pain. Other emotions were just to be used, manipulated, by others to make people feel that pain. Jogo had told her once that the cityfolk were barely human themselves. They lied and played nice and let their real feelings seep through the cracks, let their hate manifest like a curse trailing their backs ready to bite. Jogo said that's why outlaws and bandits like them were the real heroes. Unlike the cityfolk, they didn’t pretend to be good while ignoring the pain of others and tearing down the worlds of those less fortunate. To be quite frank, Mahito didn’t really care about that, but seeing a rich city snob throw away all his fake niceties and crawl to his true feelings of fear and despair was so satisfying that Mahito tended to agree with Jogo just so he’d take her with him when he went to the city.
Mahito turned her hat over in her hands. She was starting to get really bored with the question, with the stillness of the room, and with the fact she had had nothing to do all day! Just as she let out a groan and pushed herself further into the sofa the sound of a door creaking open was heard on the other side of the room. Mahito jumped up immediately, an excited smile crossed her face which quickly became crooked as the stitches lying over her right eye restricted her from completing the grin. She scrambled off the sofa and crossed the hall from the living room to the front room where her fake mom stood holding two bags filled to the brim with groceries and what mahito presumed was weaponry. Clothing could be seen peeking out of holes made in the paper bag from exhaustion of the weight. On one bag a bright red blood splatter decorated the side and Mahito could see drops on her mother's hands as well as a spot left on her face. After setting the bags down on the counter she turned to return Mahitos gaze. “Hello Mahito, how have you been?” Kenjaku asked with a cunning smile.
“Good!” Mahito grinned and jumped onto the table to peer into the bags.
“My, my, how many times have I told you not to drag mud onto my counters dear?” Kenjaku said with a laugh.
“What’s all this?” Mahito asked, ignoring the previous question and replacing it with one of her own.
“The next step of a long plan” Kenjaku replied “Now come on, off the table, your hair is a mess let me redo your braids” Kejaku took her nonbloodied hand and reached it up to grab one of Mahito’s three braids which she could now see was falling out of the ribbon and embedded with leaves from playing around outside.
Kenjaku would have been touching her cheek if it wasn't for the glove between them.
Mahito rolled her eyes but slid off the table regardless, following her fake mom to the bathroom as Kenjaku began to wash off the mess on her hands. Mahito plopped down on the chair Kenjaku had brought in and began undoing the braids in her hair. Once free from the ribbons Mahito shook out the leaves before looking at her fake mom who had just finished cleaning the blood off her face. She replaced her bloody gloves with silk ones and turned to face Mahito, hairbrush in hand. Mahito closed her eyes as she leaned into the touch of her fake mother who slowly began brushing her tangled hair. As the movement led to repetition Mahito’s mind was left to wander back to her question of the day. “Mom?” She started and Kenjaku hummed in response. “Do you think I’ll ever love someone like Jogo loves Hanami?”
“Of course not,” Kenjaku said smiling softly without pause. “You are not someone who can love, and in return, you cannot be loved.”
Mahito opened her eyes to look up at her but said nothing.
“But why are you worried about love? Love is such a burdensome feeling. That is what you told me when we first met was it not? That is why I thought you were clever.”
Mahito’s eyes widened. Oh! Oh of course! She already had an answer, she had had one all along! She felt rather silly that she even let her mind go on this goose chase that was so obvious to begin with. No one understood the truth of emotions like Mahito, not the city folk that abandoned her or even Jogo and Hanami, but Kenjaku could understand. Her fake mother looked nothing like her, Kenjaku’s short dark brown hair was opposite to Mahito’s long silver, their eyes were different colors, and their DNA shared no resemblance, but in their minds, Mahito felt like they were related. Mahito smiled as the question that plagued her quickly slipped away to nothing but an afterthought. Her fake mother might not love her, but she understood her, and that meant more than any fickle love.