I can't believe that the first thing that I write in ... ages... is a crackfick about Genkishi's eyebrows.
I don't even like Genkishi, dammit! D8 Anyway...
An Ode to My Eyebrows: They are not Sperm.
"They… they are not… they are not…" A eight year old boy wiped his snotty jumper sleeve across his face, tentatively fingering his eyebrows. The crowd laughed at him, before the biggest boy, a robust and sly blonde punched him, sending the child flying back.
"They're not what, Genkishi~?"
"They…" He sniffed again, slowly standing up, rubbing his face from where the punch had connected with his pale face. "They are not sperm!"
Indeed.
My tale is a sorrowful one, befitting of a warrior such as I. Today, I am a feared man, my illusionary swords striking fear into the hearts of all that dare cross me. Today, I am fleeing.
I was born in the suburbs of Sapporo, where mist and fog swirled up in the convoluted heavens, where children play in the gutters of society. I was the outcast, the different one. My background was fairly normal, an orphan I may have been, but my life was not bad, for I was taken in by a kindly old woman with choppy white hair and a penchant for the sickening flavour of marshmallows. Setsuko-san. She is dead now.
My life certainly was not bad, if it was quiet. Until that boy came along three weeks after my eighth birthday.
One day, an Italian appeared on the steps of the run down shack that was mine and other childrens'. His blonde hair even at that age was slicked back and he wore an arrogant smirk on his tanned face. Gamma. The man I am stuck to. The boy who destroyed, yet hardened me. On that day, I ran out of the building to meet the new boy, hiding behind Setsuko-san whom was sucking on a marshmallow. I peered from behind her, and cautiously stuck out my hand.
He looked at it. He looked at my face. His eyes closed in on something – I didn't realize what.
"Ha… haha…" The mysterious boy was laughing. Being such a naïve child, I could not grasp it, so I inclined my head and blinked.
"What is so funny?"
He continued to laugh, before he calmed down a little and collected himself. Setsuko-san was looking at him suspiciously, and she grasped my hand. "It's… those on your forehead, they…" He laughed again, "they're sperm!"
Allow me to explain myself here. My eyebrows are unique. They do not look like, as the ten year old Gamma put it, sperm. They are unique. Their elegant shape comes from my deceased mother whom I carry but a single picture of, and I hold them dearly to my heart as memento of my mother, as it were. They are not, in any way, shape or form sperm.
After that day, I was bullied. I was called 'cum-face', 'semen eater' and all other sorts of uncanny names. Gamma, some other boys and I were moved to Italy when the aforementioned had a perplexing man in a suit pick him up, and even, under the tutelage of the Giglio Nero family, the fierce persecution raged on.
It was under this constant verbal fire that I became strong. I became the feared swordsman that I am today.
Yet I am fleeing.
Not an hour ago, another boy appeared.
"Those kinds of eyebrows… are against the school rules."
The mist swirls around me, and I reform. My body aches from my battle with the Vongola Juudaime, and I stare bleakly out upon the scenery of Namimori.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I sink to my knees.
Tears run down my face.
"They… they're… they're my mom's eyebrows…"
My eyes snap up to me moon.
Vengeance will be mine!