J was an unusual child. He was very much aware of this fact.

He was also aware that the individuals with whom he currently claimed residence were anything but. They were horribly and exceedingly normal. Which was terribly disappointing, seeing as it was their greatest and only aspiration. He supposed they were interesting enough physically speaking-after all it was quite an accomplishment to resemble a walrus, a horse, and a swine to such a startling degree-but their personalities were rather lacking. They were simply so terribly predictable and mundane.

They also seemed to be under the impression that his name was Harry. It wasn't the most creative thing that he had been called, but it was somewhat annoying. As if he'd consent to being called Harry of all things.

Mostly he didn't really care what they thought his name was-they barely used it- but it was the principle of the thing, and as far as he was concerned it was entirely too long. And boring. It wasn't even that nice to look at when it was written out. The straight lines and square shape of the H threw off the entire balance of the word.

There was a wonderful time when he was a young child when he was convinced that he had no name, or need for anything to call himself at all. He doesn't remember what made him think otherwise, but whatever it was he can't help but think that he lost something that day.

He didn't choose J for any other reason than the strange desire to call himself something, and the fact that he took particular joy from the way the letter curved. After all, he had found that giving a name too much meaning gave it an unnecessary amount of power.

The woman, who he mentally referred to as Horse (because calling them that was much more amusing than using their given names, which were also disgustingly normal) was a thin spindly woman with a long face and even longer neck. Her voice was unreasonably shrill, which he attributed to her ornery temperament, and her patience thin. For the most part she was the average housewife she aspired to be. He thought she put too much effort into it to justify such sub-par results.

She was afraid of him. She had always been afraid of him. It was a dark fear, always quivering beneath her facade of normalcy and disdain. Fear has always been something he understood. It was familiar to him, and thus in some perverse way, comforting. But he doesn't understand her fear. It is more than irrational. She was afraid of him long before his strangeness became apparent. Sometimes he catches her staring at him with what he thinks might be horrified fascination-or perhaps she was constipated. He was never really very good with the majority of other people's emotions. Most of his knowledge of such matters is conjecture.

He thinks that perhaps it is not him that she is afraid of, for she really knows very little about him, and what he can do. He thinks that it the idea of him that she fears, an idea that was formed long before he graced her doorstep. Its amusing to him that she should fear some nebulous idea of him more than the blood and flesh version of himself. She doesn't even see him. He might have hated her for that, if he were a different person.

He had determined some time ago (thanks to hints given to him in the form of several rather rude and derogatory remarks from Walrus) that it was Horse to whom he had the closest blood relation. This held little significance to him other than providing an explanation for how he had ended up in their rather grudging care, seeing as his relation to her had obviously done very little to endear him to her, thus ruling out adoption. They had referred to him as their no-good nephew a few times previously, but he was leery of putting any faith in anything they said. They were in the habit of lying when it came to matters concerning him, after all. But he was certain that it was Horse's sister that he was related to. She was most likely his mother. Perhaps it was her sister that Horse fears, the shadow of a woman long-dead reflected back at her in his eyes.