Disclaimer: I do not own Ruruoni Kenshin, it belongs to Watashi Nobushiro.
Summary: With every step, this rhythm is engraved into his heart; Soujiro contemplates who he has become. Drabble.
Rhythm
Side step, back, forward and….. Stroke! The katana made a cutting sound as it slashed through the cool summer air. Soujiro wiped his sweaty brow, maybe this was enough for one evening. But the desire to be the best drove him on.
Another swish of air flew past his head as he fought with an imaginary enemy. Black strands of hair flew wildly as he jumped and twisted in the air. Imaginary swords clashed against each other, creating a non existent twang. To the observer it looked like a graceful dance of skills. He really did earn the name tenken.
Tap, tap, tap, step, step, step…swish! The steady rhythm was getting to him; it was being engraved into his heart, with every step and swing he took. A steady music that haunted him over an over again. At least the dreams had stopped. The days were he woke up drenched in a cold sweat because he saw them; saw those he had killed with nothing more than a second glance. They reached at him with imaginary hands, and faces wrought in a hollow expression.
But this was worse.
Feeling like he never felt. What controversy this is, I can't even feel my own pain now. Just this swinging rhythm that goes on and on.
The first times he had ever been on an assignment, he could hear everything. The pounding of his own heart, the screams, the pleadings, and even the silent tears that ran down his face.
But now what did he hear? Tap, tap, tap…. Swish! Just this lonely rhythm that drummed loudly in his ears. The wooden floor of the dojo gleamed back at him, showing him his own face in its reflection. The once handsome face had deteriorated. There was no more sparkle in his eyes or the softness to his face. Soujiro's face looked like it belonged to a man rather than a boy of 16.
But then again, his face had never been truly happy. There was also a smile twisted upon it but he knew that it was fake. Soujiro had just carved it into his face, like it had always belonged there.
So many things were becoming habits for him now, just things he could do without thinking. Like kenjutsu, like the shukuchi, and even killing. He just didn't think about it anymore. He just listened. And he knew that beat would always be pounding like something that you're just born with.
But Soujiro knew that wasn't true, he had engraved the footsteps, the beats, the rhythm by himself. And now it was a part of him like the rest of his body. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop listening.
He picked up his katana, the smooth metal brushing his rough hands. And as he fell into fighting stance, the rhythm started to flow again.