Maybe the Sohma clan didn't start out to be as rich and luxurious as we thought it would be. What if the clan head lived a childhood life in a totally different way?
Being the cold and violent head of the clan that he is, maybe Sohma Akito wasn't born with that attitude. Maybe he had a reason for it...
6 year-old Akito was coming home… or was he?
His eyes looked so empty while the frail boy was staring at nothing. He rode a beaten down cab that seemed to have a heater for an air conditioner. Akito had with him his small used-up knapsack; everything he needed was inside. It was such a small bag for someone who had been gone for years. He entered familiar grounds as the cab turned to one street. Akito clenched his teeth, balled his fist, and closed his eyes.
Darkness came, and then scenes of his childhood a year ago came to the boy's mind. He could not remember any instance that he wasn't in pain. The feeling of numbness took its toll, as if all the pain were upon him in just one moment. He couldn't move but could hear it… could hear her voice. It was Satan's voice: harsh, trenchant words enveloping him.
"Akito! Come here you little son of a bitch! Don't you have any brains? Stupid! Stupid!" She pulled his hair, almost ripping his scalp, slapped his face and hit him. Akito fell to the floor and through his blurred vision he could make out her swarthy skin, reddish eyes glaring demonically at him.
"What the hell were you trying to do?" she shouted. "I told you, I'll distract the man while you get the money in his pocket. Is that hard to understand?" She leveled the boy to his gaze, grasping the front of the youngster's tattered shirt. Tears fell from Akito's eyes. He couldn't look at her, it was unbearable.
"I told you to get the money! Get the damn money!" she dropped him on the floor. "I can't," he said, turning his head. "I can't do it". The woman turned his face roughly to her with one hand and slapped him hard with the other. Akito tasted blood.
"Why are you so angry with me? Why do you always keep on hitting me?" He yelled. Akito was startled by his own courage. It was now or never. He was going to die anyway.
"Tell me why? Why?"
"Because you look like your father that's why! That man thought he outsmarted me, leaving me like that…" she said pacing back and fourth, "Hell no!" boomed her voice. She looked at Akito and her face turned baleful; she laughed, a demonic laugh deafening him.
"But look what I got?" she said coming towards him. "I've got you! And you'll pay… you'll pay…".
She dragged him out to the street. People looked but nobody gave a damn, it was a familiar scene in that slump.
"Let go of me!" Akito was struggling from her grip. Undeniable fear was making him fight back. "Where are you taking me?" She shook him hard and looked straight into his eyes,
"To hell."
"Let go! Please, please mommy let me go!" Akito said half screaming, half crying. Without warning, his mother hit him strong on the temples.
Akito opened his knuckles that were already pale, opened his eyes and gasped for breath. That was where she was all these years, in a place where people who were trusted by humanity are judged for others, flagrant individuals who would do anything for money.
That day, Akito's mother approached a policeman. They talked in a dark corner. The cop didn't pay attention to his battered state while the boy's mother paid the man. Without any hesitation, the policeman was off, taking Akito with him. The ride to his confinement was the longest ride in his life; his years in prison were the longest years.
"This place suits me… its suits me perfectly"
As the days passed, Akito found himself whispering no longer his belongingness to the tormenting place. "I don't belong here… I belong to my home… my home."
The cab stopped abruptly in front of a run down house. Akito was there, his face suddenly brightened in an unusual way, smiling from the corner of his mouth, "Akito's home."
He paid the driver and headed inside the same dingy house. He turned to his right and saw the dusty ancient mirror that reflected his thin and hollow form. He remembered that day again, the sound of his screaming for her to top, to let go. But she did none of these.
With one rough blow of his bag, the mirror was shattered to pieces. His face of anger and helplessness turned to a serene smile.
Akito entered his favorite room walking with light steps. His smile grew even wider. He sat on a big old chair next to a small desk with an antique lamp. Akito's mother used to sit on that chair during those long nights, drinking and smoking. Beer bottles and cigarette butts were scattered on the floor. She would shout for her to bring more, and he would hurry to obey her, afraid she would get angry.
"I don't want mother to get angry," he said as he caressed the armchair, grasping it with a violence that turned his fingers white.
"Oh, it feels so home!" he exclaimed followed.
He looked around the room, scrupulously memorizing every detail, the look, and the smell. Akito waited.
Creak.
Sounds floated to his ears like music. 'Mother's home!' he said to himself. Akito reached for his knapsack, looked at the door and waited.
He heard the sound of her heavy feet and her hard coughing. "Oh no! Mother, are you sick? Are you going to die? No! You can't die…" Akito cried.
It was dark in the room; night had already fallen, faint light from streetlamps shone through the dusty window. He could make out her shadow; she still has the same built: strong and imposing. He turned on the lamp beside him and saw the startled look in her eyes. It made Akito more excited/ He grinned. "Mother, I'm home!"
"A-Akito?" she whispered.
"Yes! You don't know how long I've been waiting for this."
The woman remained standing beside the door, holding a beer bottle in one hand while running the other through her hair. Akito remained seated, poised like a king in his throne.
"I have a present for you, I hope you like it." Akito slowly pulled his hand from his small knapsack and pointed his gift right at his mother.
The shattering of broken glass filled the room; her eyes grew wider.
"What? You don't like it?" Akito said with grief. He looked at his gift, holding it up with both hands. Then he stood up.
"I couldn't think of anything much better than this. But you don't seem to like it…" Akito felt a surge of mixed emotions.
He finally said, "You always beat me up, don't you remember? I was really no match for you…" he looked at the gift in his small hands, "I was supposed to give this to you… oh well! Now that I have this beautiful gift, I could do better this time. If there' s one thing you taught me, it's always being the best!"
His mother sank to her knees, looked up at her child with tears rolling down her cheeks. She opened her mouth, she was about to say something but Akito stopped her before she could say anything.
"Shhh," he whispered.
He locked his gaze I her; he no longer had that bright face of his, no anger too. What he had was a face of contempt.
"What am I going to do now? This gift would be wasted… do you remember that place where you took me? It really wasn't so bad. I learned a few things too. Do you want to know? I've learned not to waste anything, so I can't waste this gift, do you understand?"
"Akito, please… please don't. Forgive me, forgive me Akito please…" his mother pleaded.
But he couldn't hear her, he could only see that his mother had grown old. She no longer had that stature before. She had deep wrinkles in her forehead and eyes, her skin, a little loose around her neck.
"I never really meant it, I didn't Akito…"
Akito aimed the revolver at her face.
"Akito no! No!"
As the bullet chamber turned, a deep black howl sounded through the boy's ears. Blood marked the wall behind her, dripping to the floor.
"Don't worry, you'll go to hell too." Akito said to his mother.
The boy looked down at the bloody remains in front of him and smiled.
Based on the story from FRAGMENTS