Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X. But what I do own are the words.
In another life a man could wield his sword in the defense of the defenseless. He had once, along time ago been legend, and in some places a hero. His strength was invaluable in years past. His age had ended long ago. He was a relic in a new world. Like all relics, he was growing tired. What would this man give to be strong again. What would this man give to be whole again. Long has it been that this man had been the best of the best. This man who had live two lives. This man who had died twice. This man who had sinned.
He carried a burden like no other. The heaven turned a blind eye to his actions. The hells used to rejoice at his ways. Fate and destiny knew his path, and guided him along it. In his heart of hearts, he had no home, he was a wanderer always seeking that which he has been unable to find. A home. But what he has not realized is that he already does have a home, in the form of all those that care for him. During his time in solitude, he wakes and wonders, and dreams, and wishes.
In some way, shape or form, this one man would defy all, and one day return to his home. A true master of the sword, he needed no blade for he himself was the sword. The sword which unknowingly has been like a compass, one day that same compass would lead him to where he has always wished to be.
In the deeper recesses of one man's soul, a small shard of peace is found, brightly shining illuminating the surrounding darkness of his soul. Aspirations and dreams of redemption fill his heart, while regret fills his entire being. Countless soul s had he sent to heaven and hell. Where his soul shall travel once it has left its mortal shell only the Kamigami would know.
Looking out the window of the small shack he now is forced to call home, he sees the ocean. Across it, he knows the land of his birth, his true home lay. His thoughts wander, reminiscing about the adventures of his youth. All the times he had spent with his loved ones. All the people he had helped.
As seabirds fly above the deep blue waters, diving to catch fish here and there, he wonders.
Was is worth it? All the suffering I have endured. Was it worth it?
Questions such as these plagued his thoughts. He knew that soon, the Shinigami would come for him. His time left on this plane of existence was nearing its end.
As he stares out the window, watching freedom and life as it flies by, a pain so great catches him off guard. Even sitting by the window on a sturdy chair he falls. His heart aching. As the pain subsides his thoughts go back to the woman and son he left behind. How has his wife faired all this time that he has been away he ponders. How much has his son grown.
Wandering was his life, redemption his calling, love his undoing. He would have wandered the world, watching as time flew by before his very eyes. But it was not meant to be. Fate had brought to a special time and place to aid a young woman, and from there begin a new life.
Washing away such thoughts from his mind, his stomach rumbles, knowing it was time to eat. He walked slowly and sluggishly towards the basket in which he kept what meager rations of food he could find. Vegetable or fish, it mattered not to him, as long as he could eat.
He had lived alone for so long. After being used to being surrounded by people who cared, this loneliness felt like more than a century.
In his basket he found fish. He took one and carefully shoved a stick through it. It was growing dark outside. The light of the sun was leaving. He started a fire in the middle of his den. He cooked the fish in top of it, then ate it. He sat close to the fire and warmed his bones. He had grown skinny, due to his sickness. Un-curable as it was, it disallowed him from going home.
Travel would not agree with him. He had no way back. Hope had dimmed in him, leaving barely a spark. As much as he wished, he had begun to doubt the possibility of ever going home.
Before the fire dimmed, before the embers died, and before the ashes settled, he had fallen asleep. Dreaming of his life before loneliness.
I'm not used to writing for RK.