They Shut Me Up In Prose
Disclaimer: Tekken is owned by Namco. 'They Shut Me Up In Prose' is property of Emily Dickinson.
Summary: Julia Chang reflects back on the King Of Iron Fist Tournament 3 and 4 in her journal and the events that changed her life.
A/N: Re-edited. Line break signals the change of scene.
© Scarlet-child
Dear Journal,
'They shut me up in Prose-
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet-
Because they like me 'still'
Still! Could themself have peeped-
And seen my Brain-go round-
They might as wise have lodged a bird
For Treason-in the Pound
Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his-Captivity-
And laugh-No more have I' (1)
I never really understood this poem when I was a child.
When I was younger, I was a walking picture-book fairy-tale: Lonely, kind mother finds abandoned child. Child lives happily with mother. Mother reads poem to little girl, who falls asleep before the last words of the poem are uttered.
It's sad to say, this summary, like most fairytales, was re-written to seem more blasé. More untrue to life.
Michelle wasn't always a kind, caring mother. She could take as much as she could dish out, and if I ever stepped a toe out of line, she would make sure I knew it. She wasn't perfect, but she was damn near the closest thing to perfection in my life, my idol and the apple of my eye.
I wasn't always happy either. A part of me always wanted more. I wanted the answers to everything, to life beyond Arizona, to the Earth, to the universe. Reflecting back on this, these were the very traits that fuel my grit as an archeologist- to always want more, but to never get it. If I were to be handed the universe's secrets in a box, I would turn it away, because nothing spoils desire more than to experience that desire itself.
Life is a game, I was so willing to believe. Michelle would correct my qualms by telling me that life isn't a game, life is just life. Sometimes, it's unfair and, but that's what things are meant to be like, how the Great Spirit maps life out to be. I suppose it was easier to rebel, to succumb to that rogue portion of myself, to believe that everything was spontaneous and not predetermined. That there was still some mystery we could choose to discover, or not to discover, ourselves. That in life, you either win or you lose. Period.
It started years ago, I suppose. The turn of events that should have been coincidence, but were really only hidden to the naked eye. It was there in the back of everyone's minds, invading like a restless wind.
The tribal legends scripted that there would come a time when "The God of all Fighters" would take martial artists for his own. When the legend became reality, Michelle set out to discover the truth, taking her pendant and all hope with her. When she did not return, I took it upon myself to finish her mission and followed her. I tracked her whereabouts to Japan, and waited, like a lioness skulking in approach of her prey.
All signs pointed to the Mishima Zaibatsu having a bigger part in this chaos than was admitted. For this was the time when The King of Iron Fist Tournament Three was being hosted. The tournament was something of a legend; Michelle had competed in the tournament herself, and whenever she spoke of it, she spoke of melancholy and reminiscent grief. I put it down to her losing companions to this "war god," companions she hadn't seen in years, but, companions all the same...
His eyes were brown.
My first thought on seeing him.
But not just brown- hazel. They were flecked with more than just grey and blue; like a cup, they were filled to the brim of sadness. What intrigued me most was that upon appearance, I knew exactly who he was.
When Michelle spoke of the Iron Fist Competitors, she was hesitant to describe one of her closest friends, Jun Kazama. She described her as exactly this- "I remember the first time I saw her eyes, I would never forget her. They were like an ocean you could never see the depths of, it was calm and sad at the same time. She was entwined in the saddest of affairs… but its better that you don't know."
"When was the last time you saw her?" I dismissed her fleeting sadness, absorbed by her vivid description.
"Not since the tournament- she left without saying goodbye. We wrote to each other, and she spoke of having a son, a little older than you. Jin, I think his name was. She stopped writing years ago, though. She must have given in to grief; I guess she wasn't as strong as I thought she was…"
He must Jun's son, Jin. At that moment, I was hooked like a fish, desperate to get to the bottom of his sadness.
Sure, I had been attracted to handsome men before, too much older and wiser to return my affection. I had had my heart broken so many times that the remains were small enough to pass through the eye of a needle (2), but "that" part of me told me he was different. Which is exactly why I refused to look him in the eye until the end of the tournament, because desire came in many more shapes and forms than a nicely-wrapped box, I knew.
I suppose I have Paul Phoenix (Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.) to thank for the first time I exchanged words with Jin, and oh, what an enthralling conversation (not). If Phoenix hadn't insulted my mother as "the nature-loving hippie freak who took it upon herself to follow the Mishima slut around," I wouldn't have given in to rage and hit him, and he wouldn't have hit me back, just as Jin happened to be on his way to his locker.
I still remember the twisted look on his face as he slammed Phoenix against the wall, one-handed. The way Phoenix looked at Jin; it was as if he was a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
"Mishima bastard," he spat, as the MFE officials went to intervene. A look of hurt flashed across his handsome face, and then he turned to me and spoke.
"Are you hurt?"
I love his voice.
"Just my pride."
"You don't need an icebag do you?" he gestured at the nearest official, whom started to reach the medic's station, "Or a band-aid?"
With a hand pressed to my hurt cheek, the pain subsided briefly. All I could concentrate on was his eyes. There had to be an end to it, there just had to be.
"A band-aid can't heal a bruise," I said, surprised by the coldness in my voice. I would have apologized when I saw him cock an eyebrow in surprise, but the game was getting stranger, and I needed to get back on track.
Michelle would have said that it was fate that the Great Spirit pitted myself and Paul Phoenix against each other in a match. I would have said that it was an opportunity, a clear path in the mine field, to win this game and to set everything back the way it was.
But things didn't turn out as I planned. I lost- KO after the first ten minutes, I was told, when I regained consciousness. If anything, I'm glad I wasn't awake to see the look of gloating on Paul Phoenix's face.
The locker room was near-empty by the time I left the medical station. I was too embarrassed, too ashamed, to meet the eyes of my fellow fighters. I was no longer equal to them, no longer worthy. So when Jin hesitated by my locker, I was the one who spoke first:
"Don't."
"… I wasn't going to say anything."
I screwed the cap of my water bottle as far as it would give.
"Good, because I wouldn't want to hear anything you would have to say…"
I couldn't face him. I had let myself down, I had let Michelle down.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he hesitated, nonchalance encircling his words. (how on Earth could he be so calm?) "I was just going to tell you it wasn't your fault… Paul Phoenix is a… well, a - "
He couldn't even use a swear word, he was easy prey- maybe not physically, but emotionally, I could snap him in half.
"No better than you are."
I could feel the tension growing in the air. I set the water bottle down, and faced him, eyes averted.
"I know what you are," I went on, anger and guilt and regret backing my words.
He cocked his head to the side. He was carrying a water bottle as well, and a towel over one shoulder, the bottom frayed just below his flamed training pants.
"What's that?" no longer nonchalant, but rather curious and guarded.
"You're the reason my mother is missing."
"I don't know anything about your mother," he seemed genuinely taken back, but I didn't care.
"Of course you don't!" I snapped, "But your family does, your all the same, you Mishima bastards! You use money as an excuse to sculpt a crown and call yourselves royalty! You want people to bow down before just because of your name - "
"I'm not a Mish- " he interrupted, and then, on reflection, changed course, "I'm not like that at all. I'm just like you in this tournament - "
"Please!" I sighed irately, "You're going to go to the final and you're going to kick Phoenix's ass and win this tournament, but what does it matter to you? This is just a big game for you! You're here for the glory, I'm here to make things right. I'd say we were pretty damn different."
I drew breath, and felt my anger deflate like a pin in a balloon.
"I don't know anything about your mother," he said coldly, turning away, "And I would get your facts right before accusing someone of something you know nothing about."
For a fleeting moment, I wished he had just hit me instead.
According to the media, Paul Phoenix officially won the King Of Iron Fist Tournament 3. Unfortunately for him, Jin Kazama technically won the tournament and was ultimately declared the winner.
Betrayal, pain and grief were the emotions I felt as if they were my own. After Heihachi Mishima attempted (and failed) to take out his own grandson, Jin fled, and was right to do so. Heihachi would stop at nothing to wipe his existence from the earth. Angered that it only took one rogue card for the pyramid to fall, his "Tekken" forces rallied through the alleys of Japan, quietly breaking into suspect's houses, killing, causing chaos, but they were never caught, oh no, they were just whispers of discord to the media. It was the work of mobsters, never the rich and powerful.
But I knew Jin was okay. He would have fled far away. Somewhere where the powerful hands of the Mishima Zaibatsu couldn't reach him.
As for me, I went home to Arizona. I was sad, but there was nothing I could do.
The time between the two tournaments was a blur. I studied, I worked, I trained. It was the same routine repeating like an old television re-run for two years.
One unfortunate day, I discovered that my native homeland was in danger of being covered by an impending desert, and to prevent this from happening I joined an advanced genetic research group funded by G Corporation, the sworn enemy of the Mishima Zaibatsu. I was ecstatic when the project was set to complete, and I would finally be able to save my homeland. But as the research was almost finished, G Corporation was attacked, and the project data had been stolen. Professor T told me that the Mishima Zaibatsu were the assailants responsible for the hold in the project.
By chance, an ad popped up while I was searching for information on the Zaibatsu in order to take them down. It was a web page announcing The King of Iron Fist Tournament 4.
So once again, I found myself on my way to Japan. It hadn't change at all in two years. It was the same busy country, as ever. Only the faces had changed.
After officially entering the tournament, I stumbled into Jin again.
He was scarred, physically and mentally and it was if he had been re-moulded as an entirely different person, one whom was trapped inside his own nightmare.
They shut me up in Prose.
I couldn't help but flinch when I looked into his eyes. The calmness had left them; the flecks of charm and kindness had been consumed by hate and anger. The only thing that remained was the depth, how it called you to reach it, to somehow pull yourself into him, to finally discover what it was you were meant to know.
…But I had already pushed the box away.
And when I saw him again, he was the one to walk on by, eyes averted.
Because, I was right: a band-aid can't heal a bruise.
Game-over Julia. You lose.
1- They Shut Me up in Prose by Emily Dickinson
2- A Knight's Tale