Mikata
Yami no Matsuei
Song #1 of the "Garbage on Random" Series
You pretend you're high
You pretend you're bored
"Now hold still, Kazutaka, You don't want to get stuck now, do you?"
The five-year-old, being only five and not terribly patient, continued to squirm on the lap anyway. He looked up, his big silver eyes wide and plaintive.
"But mommy, I have to go to the bathroom..." the boy whined a little, trying to squirm off of the lap again, uncaring of the skirts he was pushing up as he did so. A little foot, bound up in a delicate slipper kicked out under the white folds.
Long pale fingers slipped across small bird-like bones in the child's chest, accidentally sticking the boy with the pin of the antique brooch.
You pretend you're anything
Just to be adored
The boy began to wail loudly as a small bead of blood welled up against the neckline of his little white dress. A white silk handkerchief was brought out and daubed at the crimson stain.
And what you need
Is what you get
"Mommy, Mommy," the tears continued long after the blood had dried.
"Come now, little Kaz-chan..."
"Please don't throw me away!"
The boy was inconsolable. The Pale Hands wrapped themselves around the boy's small chest, "why would you think something like that?"
"Because I'm... I'm," the boy's breath hitched, "I'm all dirty and broken!"
Don't believe in Fear
"Why would I throw you out?"
"You threw out Veronica, because she had a crack in her face!"
The lap bounced, trying to console the crying child, "You, my little Kazutaka, are much more precious than Veronica. You are my favorite possession. I will keep you at my side always," the voice stopped being so gentle, "because I can't keep him!"
Don't believe in faith
The boy sniffled again, calming down a little, "you're not going to throw me away?"
Gentle laughter, "no," Pale hands pushed up his skirts, exposing the boy's dusty knees, "have you been in your grandfather's papers again, Kazutaka?"
"...yes..." the voice was soft and tremulous, threatening tears once again.
"Well! I think you need a bath then! Honestly, I will have to tell Yukataka-san to lock his door when he leaves! You can't ruin your skirts like this!"
Don't believe in anything
The boy's eyes welled up in tears again, thinking about the world that was being barred to him.
"Mommy..."
"Come on now, you need a bath," The Pale Hands tucked themselves under the little boy's armpits and carried him off out of the room.
"Mommy, no!"
The boy's cries went ignored as he was carried, squirming and whining down the hall. From over thin shoulders and through corn silk hair, the boy caught a glimpse of old sympathetic eyes from the crack of a door in the gray sunless hallway before the door was closed again soundlessly.
That you can't break
"You need to mind your mother now, Kazutaka. It's very important that you always listen to your parents. Be a good boy."
"Yes Ojisan," the boy was suitably chastened. He looked at the floor, his carefully scrubbed cheeks burning in embarrassment and shame.
"Now... That's my good grandchild. Come here," a warm smile was cast in the boy's direction. Hesitantly, the boy talked over to him, his little shoes thudding on the wooden floor. The little boy was lifted up onto another lap and held safe.
"Now... what are you so curious about? Your mother doesn't want you crawling around in my files, and I can't say that I'm all that pleased about it, either, but," The boy was bounced playfully, "I don't want to curb the curiosity of a child. Why don't you go pick out a file from the cabinets and I'll read it to you."
You stupid girl
The little boy knew the exact one. It was in the second to bottom drawer of the largest cabinet, easy to reach. It was somewhere in the middle. The little boy was only beginning to read and could barely recognize his own name, but the name on the folder was one he recognized instantly, if not by reading the letters, by understanding the characters with his heart. The folder was smudged by dozens of little fingerprints, testament to how well-loved the file was to the boy's little heart.
You stupid girl
"Let me see that, boy. Bring it here."
The boy brought it over, bowing his head respectfully for a moment before peeking up through his fine silver hair with wide gray eyes. The well-loved file was taken from his hands.
There was momentary silence.
"Ahh... I remember this one well..."
All you had you wasted
Ojisan looked at the old photo sadly, "this is all I have left of him now. He left me so suddenly..."
The little boy peered over the knarled, arthritic hand, "He's so pretty, Ojisan. Prettier than Veronica, even"
There was a small rumble of disgust in the back of Ojisan's throat, "yes, he certainly was lovely. This picture simply doesn't do him justice. His eyes were purple like... "Gray eyes rolled back, "like... hm... I suppose there was nothing like them!" He laughed, bouncing the boy.
All you had you wasted
"It was such a shame when he finally died... He was perfect!"
"Like a doll?"
A thoughtful pause, "I suppose he was like a doll, yes..."
One of the boy's small hands clutched at his heart. He felt a pang, a hurt like none before, looking into the shadows of violet eyes, feeling loss sharply knawing at his little heart. He vowed to himself, his features setting into a stubborn pout, that he would one day possess this perfect doll.
Ojisan's utterly perfect, lost doll.
What drives you on
It can drive you mad
There was a knock at the bedroom door.
"Go away, Saki," Kazutaka groaned from under the pillow, "I don't want to talk right now."
The hinges creaked as the door opened despite Kazutaka's wishes. Muted shuffling footsteps sounded on the plush carpet. The bed shifted as someone sat beside him. Strong hands were at his back, rubbing his tired shoulders.
"Kazutaka... I'm sorry about your mother..."
Kazutaka propped himself up, silver eyes flashing at his younger brother, "as if you really cared," he hissed, "you hated her from the day you met her!"
"Whether or not that's true, it must have been very hard on you to find her like that..." Saki placed his hands back on Kazutaka, stroking at the jumpy and twitchy muscles under his school uniform.
A pause. "I didn't know your mother felt so deeply for your father... I mean... if he felt that way for her..." Saki's voice was thick, "I wouldn't be here...and you'd be all alone..."
Kazutaka did not answer, preferring to bury his face into his damp pillow and allow his body language to convey his need for solitude to his brother.
After a short time, Saki stood up abruptly, with a furious snarl on his lips, "isn't this what you wanted," he hissed, "I'm trying to be your brother and you push me away!"
"Go away, dammnit"
A million lies to tell yourself
Is all you ever had.
"Kazutaka... I'm all you have left now."
Kazutaka sat up from his bed, and looked at the boy in the doorway. Saki smiled that same lazy, contemptuous smile, and closed his door.
Kazutaka looked up, too see if Saki had finally gone. Quietly, he snuck to his desk, trying to avoid the creaky floorboard. He had saved his grandfather's medial files after his death. His father, though interested in having the files to look at himself, let his son have them in hopes of fostering his aspirations as a doctor. It would have made his own father proud.
Kazutaka went to the second drawer from the bottom, now having to kneel to look inside. His fingers found a well-loved folder. It was the third manila folder since he first took an interest in his grandfather's files. He had worn through two of them since those days. When he was in grade school, he carried the file in his back pack, unable to go anywhere without it, like a precious doll.
Don't believe in love
Sadly, he looked over the reports, and stared wistfully at the picture. The eyes stared at him sadly and blankly, as if empathizing with Kazutaka's grief.
"Don't look so sad, Asato... It's not your fault," he whispered, feeling lonely.
Reluctantly, Kazutaka placed the photograph back in the folder. He looked at the file cabinet. It was so far away... he was so tired. The light stung his eyes...He carefully hid his folder under his pillow, and fell asleep.
Don't believe in hate
Kazutaka marched silently behind his parent's coffins in the mud. He could hear his father's patients and his mother's friends gossiping.
"They were like two lovebirds," they whispered behind fans, "when Sorataka-sensei died, his wife could not live without him... so tragic, those two young boys..."
Kazutaka bowed his head. If only it were really true... but loving his father was like loving a piece of stone, a marble parent. His mother mashed herself against him until she bled.
Don't believe in anything
That you can't waste
"Kazutaka, mind the mud," Saki's hand was at his back again, "your mother hated mud, didn't she?"
"Shut up, Saki!"
Saki paused, "hissing like that doesn't really suit you."
"Then how should I be Saki? My parents are dead!"
Saki smiled another lazy smile.
"You still have me, Kazutaka-kun, you still have me. You should be thankful."
You stupid girl
"You should be thankful that our father killedmy mother first."
Kazutaka walked in shocked silence for a moment.
"Why, Saki? Why would you say something like that?"
You stupid girl
"Because it true. If our father hadn't killed my mother..."
Kazutaka's eyes flashed, " I don't want to hear anymore from you, you filthy bastard!
Saki's lips didn't stop smiling, but his hazy green eyes tore through Kazutaka's thin jacket. He turned sullenly to face the road again and walked, never looking back at Saki until long after the service.
Can't believe you fake it
Kazutaka left the wake early. Let Saki handle them. He felt like he was cracking under the strain of everything that had happened. He absently touched his face to feel for cracks. Satisfied, he flopped into bed, exhausted. The brass buttons of his coat dug into his skin, but he was too tired remove it. The thoughts tumbled around in his head, his silver-gray eyes darting like schools of silver fish in sun-lit waters. His breath began to speed, then hitch in his throat. "Saki... You!"
Kazutaka tried to abandon the thought, almost eager for faded, burning eyes. Eye, rather, since one was hidden under the pillow.
Half-heartedly, he dug under his pillow for the folder. There was nothing under his pillow. The folder was gone. Panic began to set in Kazutaka's mind. He arched off the bed, looking around frantically. The folder had not fallen off his bed.
It was gone.
"Saki," he hissed.
Can't believe you fake it.
Like a wild beast, Kazutaka stormed through the halls, hunting for his errant half-brother.
"Kazutaka, didn't your mother prize silence?"
Saki looked over the back of the beige loveseat in the sparse parlor. Gray light made grayer by the thin shoji screens that separated the interior with the high-walled courtyard outside.
"SAKI! What did you do with my folder," Kazutaka was out of breath.
"Folder?"
"Don't play coy you little-"
"There is no need for such vulgarity, Kazutaka. After all, as the first born and filial son, one must be respectful at all times and not do anything to put shame on their parent's shoulders."
"You're not supposed to murder your father, either! Or convince his wife to commit suicide! "
Saki smiled, "how did you guess that?"
Don't believe in fear
"My mother hated pain of any sort. She would have never stabbed herself in the heart. Not unless you drove her to it!"
Saki nodded, "she was a bloodless woman, wasn't she?"
"Shut up," Kazutaka hurried around to the front of the loveseat. Saki stood up to meet him, dancing from his grasp, "give me that file!"
Don't believe in pain
"I'm all that you have now!" Saki sneered, holding the picture up high, "you think some dead guy could save you, some masturbatory fantasy!"
"Leave it alone, Saki! You stole my parents, so why can't you just leave me be?"
Kazutaka growled, his soft face contorted with rage.
Saki smiled his lazy smile once again.
"All right, Kaz-chan, I'll leave him alone," he put the picture face down on a coffee table, the yellowed contact paper seeming to melt into the wood.
As Saki turned to leave, Kazutaka rushed over to the table and snatched up the photograph. It was still the same. Saki had not broken the picture like he did his parents. Kazutaka smiled at the picture, and did not see the sword that had been hiding on the seat.
Don't believe in anyone
As he put the picture away in his breast pocket, the sting flew across his eye. A silver flash and then a blackness that terrified Kazutaka. Stunned, he fell back, clutching at his wounded eye. Blood seeped though his fingers and across his face like tears. He looked up from the floor helplessly, watching Saki's lazy smile.
"You're the last one, Kazutaka," he smiled, "you are the last Muraki. I'll wipe away this blight, this stain on existence that your family has caused!"
"Saki..." Kazutaka was stunned. He weakly scooted back across the floor, his lower lip quivering.
Saki looked down upon his older brother, his hazy green eye shining in triumph. In his arrogance, he did not hear the shoji screen slide open, nor hear the small clicks of a shotgun, aiming for his heart.
He fell to the floor, his eyes mirroring Kazutaka's, wide and incredulous.
That you can't tame
Kazutaka stared down at the body of his half brother as it lay beside him. If he didn't hurry, the small amount of life in the boy would vanish and Saki would remain just beyond his reach forever. He would be alone. With the servant, he dragged the body into Ojisan's old laboratory, mostly unused in those long lonely years since his peaceful death.
He knew the machines well. He had been good to them, and they would be good to him in return. At best, they could sustain a small amount of life, but not enough to support Saki's entire body.
Kazutaka looked around wildly, desperate for some solution to become apparent to him.
Ojisan's surgeon's kit was sitting neatly on the workbench. Kazutaka rolled up his sleeves and started to work.
His eye was a loss, anyway.
You stupid girl
Kazutaka stood satisfied, smiling at the tank. Saki's hazy green eyes opened slowly, unfocused and expressionless. Kazutaka didn't care. The important thing was that he managed to save his brother. He was not alone.
"No, Saki. You were wrong. You were wrong. I'm the only person you have left, now. You need me, as you never had in life. I will destroy you again, and again, until you realize that you need me even for the bleak comfort of death to fall upon your shoulders"
With that, Kazutaka smiled warmly, the heated words forgotten, and kissed the glass nearest to his forehead as one would kiss a fine porcelain doll.
Softly.
You stupid Girl
Muraki loved the Kyoto red moon. It seemed a balm to his soul. The wind blew sakura petals from the trees and scattered them into the black sky, like an offering to the night. He cradled his own offering to his chest. He carried the nearly-lifeless doll to the foot of the oldest sakura tree he knew of in Kyoto, one that stood on the edge of the manor of a respected old family.
All you had you wasted
The wind sang lovingly to them, to Muraki and his doll, and he plunged the knife into her heart, pulling it out just so, to cause the blood to erupt from her body like a geyser. Blood bloomed against his white coat like a rose, and faded its way to death as it soaked through and dried.
All you had you wasted
A sudden movement of green in the darkness aroused him from his toy. Out down the small hill made from tree roots and away in the expansive flowing year was an ethereal waif of a boy. Pale skin, pale hair, pale yukata... but the eyes glistened like prized emeralds in the moonlight.
"Saki..." he whispered, though his toy and the boy were beyond hearing him.
You stupid girl
And like a rabbit, the little boy took to his legs and dashed like a little white shadow across the lawn. Muraki smiled deeply, hungering for veltateen flesh and jewel-bright eyes. Like a wolf, he sprang, dropping the toy into the dust by the sakura. He was done with it. It was broken, boring.
It didn't scamper across the lawn like a very appealing treat.
You stupid girl
He spread his coat as he ran behind him, easily catching stride for stride to the rabbit. The rabbit was weak, helpless. Perhaps a pet, perhaps just a toy, just waiting to be taken and played with. He wrapped his arms around the rabbit, lifting small hind legs off of the grass. Pain shot through his knee, sharp and vicious. Muraki fell forward, his whole weight crushing the doll into the earth. He waited a long moment, afraid he had broken his toy. A toy broken and unplayed saddened his heart.
But he felt small hands and little claws, digging at his skin. Muraki rolled off of the rabbit, holding on to one thin wrist. The rabbit was dirty, to be certain, grass stains and dirt and blood. Unlike his mother, Muraki didn't mind if he had dirty toys.
Can't believe you fake it
Muraki wrapped his hands around the rabbit's throat and squeezed. The rabbit's sharp green eyes bulged out of the little face, and small clawed fingers scratched at his eyes. It didn't matter to Muraki, one of the eyes being only made of glass, anyway. He waited, with patience hard learned on laps and in labs, until the small hands fell away, and the rabbit began to weaken. Gingerly, Muraki lifted the boy into his arms, cradling the creature to his chest. The rabbit was soft, silky hair and smooth skin. This was indeed a most precious toy. Beautiful boy.
Muraki carried the child to the sakura tree to enjoy the moon under the shifting pink blossoms. Kicking the old, worn-out toy aside, he laid the rabbit on the fresh grass. Gently cradling the head in his hand, he leaned in for a kiss. The rabbit tasted like tea and spice, hot ginger and cinnamon. Muraki drank deeply, hungry for the tastes of warmth in the cooling spring air.
Can't believe you fake it
Muraki carefully took off every wrapping on the rabbit's small body, careful not to ruin the lovely packaging any further than he already had. It squeaked pitifully, arms to heavy to fight back. Muraki paused to admire the slender, childish body; just beginning it's descent into vulgar manhood. Muraki leaned in again for another soft kiss upon the rabbit's little forehead.
You stupid girl
Muraki leapt upon the rabbit, hungry for velveteen flesh. His lips and teeth taking to pale skin. His own hands fumbled clumsily at his clothing, casting it aside carelessly. He was desperate to feel his skin brush velveteen.
And like he did every time he came home to his brother, he leaned down over the rabbit's small, pinioned body, and kissed it softly.
Like a doll's kiss.
You stupid girl
Muraki lay beside the rabbit, sated. The rabbit, with the little will it had left in its fragile, broken body, tried to crawl back to the hutch.
"No, don't leave me yet..." Muraki smiled at the pale exposed skin.
Muraki though carefully, watching the rabbit writhe. He picked up his knife, lying carelessly aside in the grass. The rabbit cowered in fear, jewel-bright eyes snapping shut.
The knife was not meant for him. Muraki took the blade, carefully pressing. Too hard, and Muraki could slice the muscle apart, needing stitches.
All he needed was paint.
His canvas writhed, and upon it, he began to draw a map of pleasure and submission.
He signed it, "With Love"
Can't believe you fake it
"I'll just have you... because I can't have him."
Muraki trailed his finger across the enflamed skin one last time, as lovingly as one would clean dust off of a glass face. The rabbit gurgled weakly, blood collecting in the back of his throat. His eyes were open still, jewel-bright, frightened.
Muraki placed his heated palm over the rabbit's eyes, and bid him peaceful slumber that was not unlike death.
Can't believe you fake it
The rabbit lay dying in the bed, wheezing helplessly.
"Is there anything you can do for him?"
The rabbit's father stood in the doorway, his face a blank mask. The lines of worry carved into the otherwise smooth skin undermined the performance.
Muraki looked back at the rabbit. His eyes swept over the emaciated figure, and he almost felt pity for the creature.
Green eyes opened, locking onto Muraki's own. They were hazy, most likely from the drugs that kept the boy from feeling too much pain.
"No, there is nothing I can do. I'm sorry, Kurosaki-san. Your son is going to die very soon."
"I see."
The voice was thicker than before, the eyes more distant, but except for that, his face remained unchanged.
The rabbit wheezed again, more loudly than before. The father started, and Muraki leaned down to the boy's tender ear.
"Just give up," he whispered, "you are not in control anymore. You are mine"
The rabbit's wheezing seemed to calm somewhat, and his body untended completely. Muraki placed his hand on his forehead, soothing the sweaty brow.
"I am all that you have now."
You stupid girl.