#001: No Love

Mashimori Hishidu walked into the first period class, noticing the small number of students seated. She looked back at her schedule to make sure she was in the right place.

PD 1 - Work of Art: Writing

Anisha Kurosumi (Room 3-B)

The Banshee looked back up, right into the face of the dark-skinned woman that had to have been the teacher. She had a bright smile on her face, "Hi, there. Miss Hishidu, right?"

"Are you Mrs. Kurosumi?" Mashimori asked.

"You're in the right place, honey. Just sit wherever you like."

Hishidu looked around the room, spotting a desk in the back row. Looks like Karen doesn't have this class, the girl thought. Adjusting the neck of her sweater so it wasn't glued like elastic wrapping to her throat, Mashimori walked toward the desk; noticing the two boys that eyed her.

One of them whistled soflty, "Hey Morioda? Isn't that the new senior who doen't have to wear the sailor fuku?"

"I bet," Morioda answered, looking back at the Banshee as she took her seat, "Appartently, her boobs were too big for any of the blosues they had in stock! Damn!"

Mashimori felt heat behind her eyes, the plague itching to devour both of the rude boys, "I wonder what those two would taste like…" She blinked, causing her eyes to return to their normal peach shade.

Alright everyone," Mrs. Kurosumi worte on the board, getting most of the class' attention, "As most of you know, I am Anisha Kurosumi, the Honors 2 English teacher. I am also the newest Work of Art: Writing instructor."

The boy who called his friend Morioda raised his hand, sending his black locks across his face, "I think I was in this class last year, only it was called Creative Writing class. Is it still the same kind of material?"

"Of course, Kega," Kurosumi smiled at him, "The only reason the name changed is because Junisha High has created dozens of new arts/literature classes this year. Now they are all apart of the Work of Art program, funded by Junisha United Hospital and other companies. It's in existence in an attempt to inspire young poets, writers, artists, and the like to get a head start on their dreams."

The teacher walked closer to the front row of desks, where a girl with orange hair looked up from her phone, "Who all here wants to become a writer?"

A few raised their hands, and others murmured, thinking the idea over. Mashimori never though about it before. She'd seen the class description on the schedule when Ganumoda debriefed the young apprentice before she left for school today, though didn't really understand what the class would mean to a normal student. Mashimori, of course, was no normal student. She was a monster, though no one in the school knew this.

The girl placed her head on the tan colored desk - her face lowering in temperature - and sighed. Her Vicera sister would slap her silly in she heard Hishidu actually taking a hint of interest in human ideology. Humans are food, she would say. Though does she really believe that? Or is she just repeating Master Malice's words and teachings?

Something touched Mashimori's head, causing her to gasp and raise herself from the desk. Mrs. Kurosumi was walking away from her, still speaking as if nothing happened, "…Now I want you to start with something simple. I know you've heard plenty of love songs on the radio. Well, screw all of that!" A few of the kids gasped at Kurosumi's choice of words – what kind of teacher said such things? "What does that word mean to you?"

The orange-haired girl spoke up, "How long does it have to be?"

"I'm glad you asked, Ami. It shouldn't be any shorter than ten lines, but other than that, as you Fanfiction fanatics might say; anything goes."

Hishidu loosened her turtleneck. That paper-on-head action by her teacher didn't make her angry – the primary emotion of the Banshee race. She was feeling something else. Embarresment was what it was called. She was great at playing other people's emotions, but was still trying to get a handle on her own. She had only just gotten out of Prima Frisen state a few months ago after she received her apprenticeship. Feelings were new to her, and discouraged against by the other Banshees.

But for some strange reason, Mashimori didn't want to block the feelings. Only understand them. Like this one called love. What was it? Could you see it? How about smelling, tasting, or feeling it? She felt her mind go into overdrive, sweat running down her neck causing her to loosen the throat of the sweater once more.

Hishidu eyed the class. One student was asking Mrs. Kurosumi a question. Keg and Morioda were taling to each other. Another was looking out the window. She felt as if she was isolated from the scene before her like a participant of a cinema presentation. The Banshe cold feel her body in th room, but where was the rest of her? Would it be even possible for her to be there and somewhere else at the same time?

Out of place in this world, the Banshees were. Striking swiftly at the inferior beings lying in their path. Ganumoda had believed this analogy with a passion. She believed that, in a way, we were helping this planet stay at a decent population by feeding on the humans. By sweeping them off their feet and sening them into a cycle of eternal bliss and freedom.

Mashimori looked up once more, wondering if this love emotion might work the same way. Silent but swift. Balanced. Before the girl knew it, she was scribbling heartbeats and metronomes on the page, just hoping she was on the right track to understanding this flabbergasting human emotion.

NO LOVE: By Mashimori Hishidu

What comes to mind when you think of armies in the night?

Lashing and breaking, entering and pillaging?

Raiding the sound barrier, as it's all you hear about –

Like the latest terroristic threat or newest political scandal?

What is the one true balance, and the reason for being?

It's masked as a stoat or other creeping thing.

Concealed with words like cute, attractive, sexy.

Radicals can call it what they want, but the truth still lies beneath.

Can't you see that Cupid is really a thief and a cheat?

It could even be a creeping Banshee, waiting to steal you –

From all who care for you, from all you once desired –

Now lost. To this putrid thing called love…

It felt like something possessed her. And not a flash of plague that brought her closer to a temporary Frisen state like it tried to minutes before. No, this was different. Though she could receive insubordination and confidentiality infridgement for several lines within this piece, she had some bizarre notion that the human teacher Kurosumi wouldn't see any reality in it.

The bell rang – First period is only thirty minutes long, she remembered. The other students filed out rather quickly, and the Banshee had hesitated before finally deciding to stand from her chair; a bad feeling temporarily nailing her to her desk. Mrs. Kurosumi sat behind her own, smiling once Hishidu approached her.

"How did you like the exercize?"

Mashimori thought long and hard before she answered, deciding that perhaps the truth would work in this situation, "I've never really written much before. I-I don't know if it's any good. It probably isn't…"

The young adult teacher stood, pressing her soft finger into her chest where her black, mercury-ridden heart rested. This gesture made the Banshee blush a bit, though probably unnecessary, "Only you can be the judge of that, honey."

Mashimori gasped lightly – only she could decide if the piece had any value? Kurosumi was the teacher – Wasn't she the one in charge? How could she possibly rely on her own knowledge or make her own choices? It didn't make sense.

This teacher was a dumbass.

Mashimori quickly turned away, her cheeks turning back into a light tan, "Farewell, sensei." Then she was gone.

Anisha stood there, puzzled, wondering what that girl of hers was really thinking. After staying idle for a few seconds, she smirked, "Farewell…Mashimori Hishidu…"