Ok, hello everyone, it's been SO long since I've had a chance to get on here and write some fanfics x3. So I'm back, and more than prepared to write some more. ., I may mess around with this, so yes.

No, unfortunately, I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. None of its characters belong to my grasp, but eh, I can still imagine that it is so ; Let's give this a shot!

…….......…….………….
A Wanted Freedom

Darkness, telling so much through the grasps and hardships of others, not the wisest choice to choose over some. Consuming hungriness of the souls, it will devour you, along with the wisps of the wind cascading down onto your wet soaking body, deceasing into the Earth, awaiting its death arrival. Being a killer you are aware of this concept, aware of the consequences if you overuse this value, this principle, of life. Your sword is your only expression—your only escape—from the outside world. From reality, facing your fears and hidden nightmares locked inside your weapon. Soaking yourself with the stench of men and carcass you are aware of this, you know the law, and accept it as your fate to protect your country, your family, even your beloveds.

Sometimes giving up the best thing can mean the worst possible outcome—whether meant for good or evil. Deciding fate through your sword, sealing someone's fate, is your job. You're fulfillment as a person. Feelings don't come into this process, for it would imbalance and catastrophe occurs through your mind, racking everything you lived up to, weakening your already pitiful soul. This is the concept, the life, of a hitokiri if they decide so. This is the path—the life—you choose if you walk this path of blood, the path of 'righteousness' for your people, this is what you sacrifice. Your life, your morals, even the most precious items in your life whist away, only the taste of blood satisfying your needs. Saki is the drink of men, over abuse it and it will not taste for you, will not entice your taste buds, intermingling the sensation of blood in everything you do, because that is what you choose to fulfill yourself as a person. As an assassin. This is the prophecy of life. Of a hitokiri.

With an induced sigh and a rippling tear from his throat, the present rurouni Himura Kenshin looked up from his vigorous attempts to eliminate these painful memories—thoughts—running his life and his mind. It had in fact been a long time since that threatening day, many days had moved on since that one, blurring his focus and forwarding endurance on his mental security, which was limited to start with.

Her painful cry, the knife that tore his skin and still presently haunts him, curses him, is his atonement. These words and sublime messages always seldom cross his mind, though when they do it bothers him so. His violet orbs turn an uncomfortable pale blue, often making him appear sickened or frail perhaps. Just the thought of her smile, anything about her often depressed him, though he only thought of her when he knew the opportune moment.

Though he despised doing this, he somehow felt obliged to do so in her honor as his wife, since he still hasn't strung up enough confidence or practical sense or peace with himself to even go and look at the grave she resides in, her body wilting away like the cherry blossoms, with the cherry blossoms, since winter was in fact approaching.

He had hesitated in his work, not realizing the fact that his eyes were forwarded to the frost collecting outside, which was such a blissful wonderland of white nothingness. It reminded him of her so, and it certainly dropped his spirits of high hopes for the forgetful winter, as he put it.

Seeing Kaoru's lithe figure and Yahiko and Sano's attempt at making warped snow angels, it snapped him out of his skeptical manner in finishing off the dishes they ate earlier. He blamed himself of course, because the longer you stall with getting it done, the more stretched time where you are left scrubbing vigorously for hours on end. He learned that the difficult way, while, of course, he lived in that humble abode.

His flared red hair—that hair that was always so ratty but classical in it's odd way—was pulled back carelessly into a low ponytail, making his face and arms look ruefully pale. Maybe it was the winter snow, cascading into the ground and whitening his complexion, or perhaps, just the thought of the dead could pale your skin on end.

Overall, there were many things to think about—how he would atone for the sins. Was he really finished with his duties in this Dojo? Maybe, he was thinking of her, because perhaps it was time to wander again? He got those urges, those warnings that told him to wander once more so he wouldn't attach himself to these groups of people. But it was already too late.

He attached himself long before he even knew it to be so late, and he was paying for it now. His regret for leaving, for finally giving up everything, to live the life he deserved. In darkness. To seek freedom from the bustling streets of Tokyo, to find his inner peace, because it obviously wasn't being found here. That was a rurouni's duty, to find it, and lounging here burdening the people around him certainly wasn't going to assist in his atonement.

He knew it was finally time, time to move on. Time to wander again.

Thank you guys so much for reading this, and if you Read and Review, I'll get back to you as soon as I can Just please give me some inspiration to keep going, I really need some advice to know where to go from here. 3