Requested By: ...I tried to find who requested it, but couldn't find it. I still hope it's up to snuff.

Not Real

"And just what the heck were you thinking," Jamie's mother berated with a stern wag of the finger. Jamie grumbled incoherently, dipping his head to stare guiltily at the oak surface of the table. "What on Earth compelled you to walk outside barefoot," she demanded, gesturing to the window. "And during a blizzard, too."

Jamie heard the wind howling from outside as he vaguely listened to his mother's parental rant. "It's not like I got frostbite or anything," he mumbled. The mom's brows furrowed.

When she had dragged Jamie in from the cold she hastily, but gently, tossed him onto the counter to inspect his frostbitten feet…only to find that they weren't frozen nor an angry blue. Fine and normal as they always were, if not a bit chilly. But then again, Jamie's skin always felt colder nowadays, even during spring and summer. And Jamie attempted to walk barefoot almost every day.

Although she was happy with how long his shoes were lasting without the usual wear and tear, Jamie would come home with the occasional cut or chafe, mostly on his toes or heels. This made her check his feet often for any form of infection. Miraculously, for as clumsy – and sometimes unlucky – as Jamie was, he was always void of infection. It was both fascinating, and infuriating.

The woman sighed and she rested her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands. "Look, Jamie," she breathed, ducking up from behind her fingertips. "It's the dead of winter; you can't just walk around without shoes. I won't have your feet falling off."

Jamie leaned back, crossing his arms with a minor pout. "Jack Frost doesn't wear shoes."

"Jack Frost isn't real, sweetheart," the mom explained for the umpteenth time. "He's just an expression."

Jamie merely shook his head, brown and ever messy locks drifting in front of his eyes. The little boy pushed against the rim of the table to slide backward and jump out of the chair, bare feet creating a light pattering as he landed on the faded congoleum floor.

The mother quickly stood. "Jamie-"

"I know, I know," Jamie said a bit impatiently as he turned around to face the staircase. "I'm grounded, right?"

She sighed. It was the first year that she ever had to ground the kid. It's not that he was forgetting homework or hanging with the wrong crowd. In fact, he wasn't even spending enough time with his friends. Between home and school, Jamie was always outside and off doing something, alone she assumed. He would often come back a little later, and was always berated when he came home.

The issues quickly escalated, however. She would sometimes catch him sneaking out around the cliché hour of midnight, or even not showing up for school. But the real breaking point was Jamie's occasional skipping of class, as well as disappearing from the school grounds entirely. It was an elementary school, for Pete's sake! How hard is it to keep track of a generally model student?

The mother sighed inwardly. She assumed she wouldn't have these kinds of problems until he was a teenager. He was only ten years old! At least he still looked ten years old. With a groan, she slumped back into the dining chair and rested an elbow on the table, head leaning tiredly in hand.

Jamie stared back at his mom, pursing his lips irately, but with underlying desperation. He opened his mouth slowly.

"Just because you don't see something, doesn't mean it's not there."

The mother blinked, and by the time she fully glanced up her son was gone. The light thumping of sockless feet on the hallway above, and the creaking of a bedroom door was the only thing that broke the heavy silence upon their home.

It wasn't solid job, and just barely kept food on the table.

The mother sighed and rubbed the dark circles under her eyes as her free hand rested on half of the home keys. She typed with less enthusiasm with every passing day. A passion she once treasured was now overused and bothersome.

Taking a long swig of her mug and grimacing as the cold coffee sloshed in her mouth, she went back to the computer screen, typing out the two-bit article that was sure to come out bland, boring, and most likely unedited. Wiping sweat from her brow, she paused halfway through the article to open the window in front of her. She allowed the remaining, lessening winds of the blizzard to rush a biting chill over her face. With a small smile, she jokingly wondered if Jack Frost was going to let up on the snow days any time soon.

Before she could even chuckle, a dull thumping sounded from upstairs. By the tone of the feet, she could tell it was coming from Jamie's room. And by the brief squeaking of a mattress she knew that her son had just started settling in for the night…at two in the morning.

She ran a hand through her hair, knowing that somehow, someway, Jamie managed to sneak passed her coming to and from the outside world. She wouldn't be surprised if he somehow managed to climb out his window, which was all the way on the top floor. The mom almost went back to her typing if not for the slight, almost scolding tapping of a foot, yet again coming from Jamie's bedroom.

The woman's eyebrows knitted. Her son had just jumped into bed and Sophie was fast asleep in her own room. And she was almost certain that Jamie was incapable of sneaking a friend up to his room, but, then again, she also thought it was impossible for Jamie to ever sneak out of school. Therefore, there's a first time for everything.

Suspicion in mind, and maybe a dash of anger, she walked away from her desk and made way for upstairs. She shuddered at the sudden draft that weaved through the old house, creaky boards and a long, frayed yard-sale carpet cushioning her footsteps. Slowing, but not breaking the stride, she reached and pushed Jamie's door aside. The unusually comforting ambiance of a nightlight-filled corner and a wide-open window met her gaze.

The mother shot an expectant look to her son that swiftly twisted into downright confusion. Her son laid on his bed with arms resting casually behind his head in a carefree manner. However, what really caught her attention were the bandages wrapped around the child's feet.

Jamie, one hand tossing and turning the glass snowflake he had received during his fifth birthday, watched calmly as his mother walked to the foot of the bed. "What happened," she asked when she pointed to his feet, more puzzled than mad.

Jamie shrugged. "I stepped on some glass."

"Glass?" The mom gasped.

"Don't worry," he said with his standard innocent smile. "This isn't the first time it's happened."

The heels of her hands found her hips. "That's supposed to make me feel better about this?" She exclaimed, snatching his left foot to remove the bandage. Jamie abruptly sat up to catch her hands. "Jamie, you stepped on glass, you may still have some in your foot!"

"It's okay," Jamie said hastily. "I promise it's all out. He wouldn't have wrapped them if there was still glass in them."

"He," she repeated with a blink.

Jamie tried hard not to grin as he placed the snowflake in front of his alarm clock. "Jack Frost."

The mother's eyes fluttered as her mouth pressed in a thin line. This 'Jack Frost' nonsense got on her nerves more than it should've. However, she also knew that Jamie was a smart kid; smart enough to know that fairy tales didn't exist. Why couldn't he see that?

Her thoughts broke as her eyes travelled over the bandages. The mom had to admit that even though Jamie was intelligent for his age his clumsy side didn't allow much room for first-aid. Though, he probably contained a reasonable knowledge of the subject, executing it wasn't his strong suit. She briefly remembered how long it took for him to get the hang of band-aids. Jamie's mind was never really on such a task, always elsewhere.

Naturally, she thought it a bit odd to see his feet wrapped in such a way. Pearly white, clean-cut, and almost cartoonish, the bandages were bound expertly around the middle of his little feet. The mom couldn't even find the seam to unwrap them. They looked so perfect that their local doctor could be put to shame. On top of it all, his feet looked exceptionally clean, as if he hadn't gone outside at all. If Jack Frost did do this, she thought. He didn't do a bad job - Oh, what am I saying?

The mom fought the urge to slap herself. Jack Frost didn't exist, there's no such thing as 'old man winter', and nothing but science caused the blizzard.

Not Jack Frost. He's. Not. Real.

Trying to shake away the jumbled thoughts, the mom slowly stood and turned back to the door, too tired and bemused to do much else.

Jamie's jaw dropped. "You're not mad at me?"

The woman rubbed her temples through her short, chestnut bangs. "We'll discuss…this," she pointed to his feet. "in the morning. For now, bedtime, young man. You still have school in the morning." She grinned a faint, motherly smile at him before closing the door with a click. "If there isn't a snow day tomorrow," she added with a mumble. Hunching her shoulders despondently, she trudged through the hall and down the stairs, reuniting with the dreaded unfinished article.

Had the mother turned the light on, she might've noticed the shimmering strands of energetic frost that coated the windowsill at the end of the hallway.