Shark of Spades

Who I Am Really

I find it very difficult to relive my past. No, I haven't undergone some kind of traumatic experience, or if I have, I guess I haven't realized it as such. My traumatic and your traumatic are very different. You dropping a penny is equivalent to me having my parents killed. Or, maybe I'd care less.

Now you're probably thinking, Oh, hey, were your parents killed? My answer: does it matter? They're not here now, and that's all that matters. I don't miss them. Don't get me wrong; they weren't necessarily bad parents. They were just too ready to go along with the government. Too eager to send me away. Too scared to protest. They were too much and they weren't enough. So I left. If they're dead now, it's got nothing to do with me. If you sent me an invite to the funeral, I'd probably go gambling instead. After all, funerals don't pay the bills. Unless there's an inheritance.

I didn't miss them, but there was someone I missed. But I can't talk about him. Not yet. Because he was like the storm; I wanted to wait for him, just watching the horizon line, but he wouldn't come, and I'd probably get killed in the meantime.

When I woke up this morning, I had to shut the dream out of my mind.

The window shattered inward, and then he wrapped his arms around me, protecting me, and then I felt sticky, because the blood, and when I stood up, there was a circular mark on his forehead, and I knew that if I didn't leave him behind, there'd be a bullet hole in my forehead too, but I couldn't move, couldn't move, because he was -

Dead, I finished, instantly rolling out of bed and landing in a crouch, half instinct and half leftover panic. Dead, dead, dead, and you don't care because you moved on now get up you lazy ass and get dressed you have things to do.

I got up and showered quickly (I was forever paranoid that someone would discover my secret), then dressed in a chest wrapping, really tight black tank top, and a loose black long-sleeve cotton shirt meant to conceal any curves, paired with black dress pants on the bottom. The entire ensemble was almost identical to the previous day's, but this time, I added a black tie before topping it all off with my famous sunglasses and black gloves designed to hide any feminine traces in my eyes. Couldn't be too careful.

I guess it's a blessing, then, that I was fairly flat-chested and had a very plain face. My hair was short and dark, fairly standard for a guy's, and my build was a bit more muscled than the average female, which qualified as just about average in the realm of men. All in all, by looks alone, I was fairly indescript. That was all good. Plus, my voice was low for a female's and therefore not abnormally high for a young male's. As long as I kept up my gun skills, I should be safe until I turned nineteen. Even then, I would probably have to continue dressing like this for a long time, in case they lengthened the age requirement to leave the camps. Until I believed I was safe (and that time will never come), then I would remain as such.

So for all extensive purposes, Misa Kusoe didn't exist.

However, for all extensive purposes, Card Shark was very much alive, and he was ready to go make some money.

***

I met Jack outside of a dark room. "What are we playing today?"

He grinned, all fangs. "Your choice. You're the first one here after all."

"Aren't I always. Not my fault you scare them all away."

He was still grinning. "Touché, but how do you know it isn't you who scares them all away?"

"The only thing I terrify is their pockets and their intelligence, neither of which they stand to keep or hurt to lose."