Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or events taking place in "Rurouni Kenshin" by Nobuhiro Watsuki. Please don't sue me. I receive no money from this fanwork, only a writer's creative satisfaction. Also, reviews are always welcomed, read and cherished, but never necessary.
Title: Kaerigake, "On the Way Home"
Chapter 1: 知る人ぞ知る Shiru Hito zo Shiru "Those who know, know it very well."
Word Count: 1,170
[Total Word Count: 1,170]
Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin
Character(s): Those souls who were once Himura Kenshin, Kamiya Kaoru, Takani Megumi, Myoujin Yahiko, Sanjou Tsubame, Sagara Sanosuke, Yukishiro Tomoe and Yukishiro Enishi.
Warning(s): Character death and reincarnation, bloody memories, nightmares, melancholy, violence
Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)
Post date: Sunday, August 24, 2014 ・平成二十六年八月二十四日・日曜日
: : : : : : :
There was a person, very much like many other people, who lived more than one life.
This was not in the figurative sense, this was not in the medical or psychological sense.
This person was always surrounded by the people they loved.
: : :
(Ava, Warren and Grace)
In one life, he had two sisters who constantly argued over him. The younger one liked sports and was a bit of a tomboy, while the older one had always proclaimed she was going to be a doctor. They vied for his attention, pulling him one way or the other, but he did not have the heart to deny them anything. Besides, deep down they all really loved each other.
His younger sister died in a tragic construction accident; his older sister by suicide.
He lived well into old age, reflecting to anyone who would listen how much he missed them.
: : :
(Eric, Melody and Steven)
In another, he had a distant cousin ten years younger than him move in with him and his quiet mother. She was reserved, gentle, and never raised her voice. The cousin had grown up looking up to him, and he did his best to provide guidance and a good example, even when his dear mother died when he was barely out of high school. He gave everything to ensure the younger boy wouldn't lack for anything; kindness, support, the necessities. His cousin – more a brother, by now, really – graduated high school with a full sports scholarship to a prestigious university. Always proud of him, he was taken aback when his young cousin misjudged how much he had drunk after going out partying with his college friends, and ran over him in the driveway.
His cousin never forgave himself, and became an advocate for responsible drinking.
: : :
(Sonya and Nolan)
In yet another, she found herself in an arranged marriage with a spirited young man who wanted nothing to do with settling down. Still, she was fond of him, and over the years they grew quite companionable, even accepting their situation without complaint. She took his rough nature well, was an excellent cook and always kept the house tidy. He was brash and wont to pick fights, and disagreed vehemently with her political views. Still, for all her domesticity she was not a wilting flower, and never hesitated to tear him down – or guide him, really – when she thought he was in the wrong.
After twenty years of marriage and two young daughters, these two were among multiple unfortunate victims in a plane crash. Their girls went to live with her father, a practicing judo instructor.
: : :
(Tam, Iris and Ordell)
She had always been fond of girls, but this one was special. They were both gentle souls, although hers had always been impulsively idealistic while the other girl's was soft and yielding. Still, they found solace in one another. There had never been a spark of passion – no, there was no need of it. They gave to each other and took in the same breath, always composed, always steady, always forgiving. Her girl's cousin, however, was obsessively protective of his cousin, and always glared darkly when he came to visit. He blamed her for his cousin's dabbling in the same sex. And in the end, he came to accept it, for they lived long and into their nineties together, despite society's disapproval. At the end, they died side by side in the hospital, and her cousin – with tears in his eyes – finally admitted that she had made his cousin happy, for all these years, despite their tepid relationship.
: : :
But in all these lives, this person knew something was missing. It wasn't something to be identified and conquered, wasn't a driving force in their life, was merely a passing fancy as this person's vision darkened at the end of another life, one of those last thoughts before the mind is lost to oblivion forever, and the cycle restarts.
I wonder what he's doing, now.
: : :
Always, this person had dreams. Sometimes they were of one or more of these lives, although this person could never have known that. What seemed especially common were scenes from what looked to be pre-modern Japan – the pictures, clothing and writing suggested Asia, and when this person caught words like 'kimono' or 'ken' in their memories, that seemed an obvious conclusion. But this world was hazy, as though seen through glasses worn too often and not cleaned enough. The faces were unfamiliar, but the emotions related to them were not.
His sisters – in this life, they had not been, he could see that clearly. It made him smile as they vied for his attention as they always did.
His young cousin – always a boy, brash and bright and full of potential. And his mother, as a young girl his cousin's age, shy but not fearful. It made him happy to see he had a companion, and that he himself had not died too soon, in this life.
Her husband – they had fought, in his memories. He had beaten him in a battle with a fast sword against a large sword, a fact which brought endless amusement. Their two little daughters, too, appeared and he was glad he still knew them.
Her life partner – it had ended tragically. He remembered crying over her corpse in the death of snow, while her cousin watched on, shocked to the core with despair. He remembered fighting this boy much later, after he had grown up, and every moment of it had ached.
'He' remembered, because in these memories it was always 'he'. A name, repeated so many times, by so many voices, so many different loved ones clamoring for his attention, or safety, or protection.
Kenshin… Kenshin! Kenshin? Kenshin –
Kenshin. He wondered what it meant. It being 2014, he could probably have looked it up, if he wanted. Kenshin. There was another word that always went along with it. Himura? Definitely Japanese. But there was another. Some people in his dreams called him Kenshin, others Himura, and still others…
Hitokiri wa hitokiri. Ne, Battousai?
Battousai. He didn't have any connection to the name, but it still sent shivers up his spine. He didn't like that name, didn't want it applied to him. He didn't understand the first part of the memory – or most of the Japanese, really – but sometimes meanings leaked through. And he heard 'Battousai' enough times, directed at him, to know it was another name. Definitely Japanese, if he'd read up on their history correctly – nothing extensive, just a perusal so he'd know what he was dealing with. And there was always another person, someone he just couldn't place his finger on. It was a person he hadn't seen since that time in Japan, he thought – whenever that had been.
But, no, he remembered a date.
Meiji juunen gogatsu juuyokka de gozaru yo.
May 14, 1878.
That was over 136 years ago.
