Chilling
(Word 37)
I watch him leap in, cut down. I block. He backs away. This is Okita, who buys me candy on Saturdays and pleads with me to brush his hair each evening. This is Okita, who stole a haiku book and risked being spanked just to cheer me up. Okita, who sometimes has the eyes of my parents' killer.
So much cruelty in those eyes, cold eyes that have indifferently overseen wholesale slaughter. Sometimes they are bright and innocent, shining like a child given a new toy. Sometimes his eyes do enough smiling to be more brilliant than ten men grinning. But I have seen those eyes narrow and meet with his victim's as a throat is slit or a heart pierced.
His eyes are narrowed now, but with concentration, not anger or hatred. He makes a thrust at my unguarded left side. I see and know it is coming and do not move.
Pain explodes as the blow connects, but I stare into his eyes as they widen and he leaps backward. Those eyes speak to me now: Why didn't you move? Are you hurt? I smile and rush in at his legs, noting all the while that his eyes have cleared completely. For now, I have chased the demon out. But it is chilling how quickly the fiend returns, and once again, I must parry.
