His mother often told him lies. But before he had met the man she loved, these lies had been simple. When would the rooster wake up from his long nap? Where did the sun go? Why did they not look like the other people? Why did they stay away from the large village? And she answered all these. The rooster was broken and had gone to be with God. The earth rolled away from the sun's face. She, and by extension himself, were not from that village and they stayed away from the village because the villagers knew they were from a different place. But, she was quick to say, the villagers were very kind to them, everything considered. They allowed them to trade their eggs and fleece for other foods. And they happily paid his mother for her services in the fishing season. Of course, she did not lie to him all of the time, but he knew she kept facts and things to herself when she thought it was important.
Kisame loved his mother. She was his world. And he was hers. They lived by the sea, in a little cottage with a little coop and a little field for a sheep or two. They would wake up early in the morning, fed the hens and sheep, and caught the fish, lunch and dinner somewhere in between. And when it was dark, she would tell him all about her time when she was younger, her rides on fantastic boats, the endless sea and beautiful island she knew used to know. And when he would ask her why she had left that island, she would lie.
But Kisame loved his mother. He enjoyed her stories, how her face would light up at the old thoughts and sights that played in her head. It was wonderful, even if they were lies. And of course he knew they were lies. He was a child and knew that he would learn the truth in due time. But he loved his mother.
Kisame did not know his father. He did not ask more than once. His mother told him that his father was dead; he had died on a ship. But he would have loved Kisame has he had the chance. His mother's eyes did not dim at this, nor did she stop her smile. But he knew not to ask again. He let their lives continue on, where they fed the hens and caught the fish, where they sheared the ship and stayed up late, until one day when his mother took him along with her to the large village. She seemed happier than usual, her eyes bright, her blue skin the color of the sky and the red that riddled her body was the color of the blood that trickled down her lips when he caught a fish. He held her hand tight when they entered the village, when the eyes snapped on them. But his mother's eyes kept straight ahead, bright as the stars that swam in the ocean.
They met him by a little shop. He had been admiring the bowls and plates that sat behind the clear window. His skin was green like sea foam in spring, his hair was wild and his skin was scarred. He smiled, his teeth sharp and white. His mother broke from his grip and ran to the man, embraced him. And he kept his smile, his eyes bright as his mother's. Kisame said not a word as his mother introduced him to the man, as they walked back to their cottage with the man.
The man's name was Katsuma, he was his mother's friend from when she was a young girl. He was from where she was from, had come there on a "special" path to visit. His voice was strange, was a growl and scratching voice. His mother spoke for him. He used to pilot the big boats. He used to not look like this. In fact, he used to look like the pink villagers. But now he looked like Kisame and his mother.
Kisame knew his mother was lying. Her face was bright as she served them their dinner of fried squid and roasted fish. Katsuma smiled at Kisame through-out. Kisame stayed silent, but tried his best to smile too. His mother laughed at her own jokes, retold her stories of her youth. Kisame did not know how to react to Katsuma, to his mother's loud laughs. He did not know what to say when his mother told him about his ways with the hens, how he would soon be entering the school in the local village. He was very smart, she told him, her smile becoming proud at the thought of Kisame in school and all of the happy problems that would come up because of it. Katsuma was happy too, it seemed. He patted Kisame on the back and told him how he had been at the top of his class in school. It wasn't the same thing, his mother pointed out for Katsuma again, but she was happy to know such smart men.
And soon it was time for bed. Kisame feigned sleep, as he often did. His mother and Katsuma left the small cottage, their splashes as they entered the sea as loud as the laughter that ringd from his mother's sweet voice. And that was his mother's lie.
I don't care what anyone says. I've wanted to do this little one-shot for a while. And if you want any explanation, well, a wizard and a drunk guy in a space suit did it.