The White Ribon
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He splashes his tiny feet in the puddles of water around the river, enjoying the droplets that cool his legs. Kicking a pebble that stands in his way, he runs along the waterside, laughing. Arms open wide, he feels the wind brushing across his face. He runs back and forth between the tall grass that grows around the river, occasionally stopping to pluck a flower or two.
"Mother look!" he chimes, holding up the flowers clenched in his little fists. The blond woman smiles and gestured for him to approach her. He runs to her side, throwing the flowers in the air right above her. Their laughs collide as he claps his hand fervently.
She gets up and reaches for his hand. The little boy smiles and extends his arm toward her; sending her a silent message of trust. He trusts her with everything. They walk down the dirt road that leads to their cottage, hand in hand. The woman stops abruptly, whirling around and staring behind her. To the rest of the village, the space there is empty. But for her, and the little boy clutching her hand; it's different.
"Good day to you sir." She says, smiling at the "empty" space.
"Good day." The man replies. She hears him. The little boy hears him. And nobody else.
The image of the man dissolves into thin air, and she turns around; resuming her steps. They walk silently back to the house, both still bearing smiles on their faces. Her long hair, tied with a white ribbon, sways in the wind; matching the rhythm of the skirt of her flowered kimono.
He runs in first, holding the sliding the door open for his mother. She puts an arm on his shoulder and users him in, closing the shouji firmly behind them. They abandon their shoes at the threshold and walk into the living room. Immediately, the boy trots over to the small rectangular table in the middle of the room and picks up the string of beads that sits atop it. Plopping down on the hardwood floor, he concentrates on the shiny spheres and begins to twist them between his fingers; laughing at his distorted reflections he sees on them.
The woman giggles and starts dicing vegetables. She makes the soup in silence, now and then throwing glances at her son who still sits on the ground with the beads.
Shaking her head, she picks up the now steaming bowls of soup and brings them over to the table.
"Dinner, Asaha." She says, pushing one bowl towards her son. He claps his hands merrily and begins to gulp down the soup. She gives him an appreciative look and sips her own. When the bowls are drained, she picks them both up; and placing a kiss on her son's still partly bruised forehead, walks back to the kitchen.
His hands reach up to touch the spot she kissed. His smile falters. Ghosts never hurt him, but people do. … "Demon child!"... "Fox child!"... Yes, people always hurt him. He shakes the thought away.
He crawls over to the two tatami mats that sit at the corner of the room; one for him, and one for his mother. Putting his head on the small pillow, he stares at his mother slender figure. His mother will protect him; he knows it. Reassured, he closes his eyes.
…. xXx ….
It's hot. Too hot even for this season. Fire. He thinks. There must be a fire. His eyes shoot open as sleep completely leaves his body. He scrambles to his legs, taking in his surroundings. Flames lap at the sides of the hut, burning through the thin curtains of the windows. Mother… Where is mother?
He runs to the door and yanks it open, the cold night air hitting him like a whip. Flames rise around the hut, making it seem like no more than a clash of fire and smoke. People are gathered around the house; some holding flaming torches, others knives and swords. He doesn't recognize any of them. A fat man in robes stands in front of the tree that used to sit by the house. Now it is also engulfed in the inferno; and there's something else there…shrouded by the smoke.
He screams.
"Mother!" he yells, running towards the tree and the person he now sees is tied to it. Two men block his way, not allowing him to go any further. His head hits one's belt, and he feels the cut on his forehead open again. Blood oozes down his face, mixing with his tears.
"Mother!" he calls again, catching glimpses of her burning figure. He blond hair whips around in the flames. She isn't screaming anymore, perhaps already dead.
His knees are no longer able to hold him up. He falls to the ground, a little mess of blood and tears. One of the men kicks him and he doubles over in pain. The man walks away, now helping his comrades burn down the house. His head tilts up to stare at the tree. Through his blurred vision, he can make out the fat man in the robes, still staring at his mother's burning figure. Then there is someone else there, though this image is slightly transparent.
Father… he thinks. That must be father…
Something touches his shoulder, and a warm vibration runs through his body. He turns around, partly scared to see who it is, but still curious.
His mother's loving face stares back at him.
"M-mother?" he asks in a shaky voice, his head turning from the burning tree to the unharmed image of the woman standing behind him. He reaches for her hand, desperate for reassurance.
His hand goes through hers.
She smiles at him one last time, before her image disappears before his eyes. Moments later, it reappears by the burning tree where the semi-transparent image of a tall dark haired man is still present. The little boy stares at the two who are obviously invisible to the man in the robes. They wave at him, before both images disappear.
He is alone.
His vision darkens and blurs. He feels himself falling forward. Then everything goes black.
….
His eyelids flutter open as he slowly returns to consciousness. He coughs from the dust that rises around him at his movements. Ashes.
He looks around himself, taking in the picture of what is left of his home. Nothing but ashes and charred wood. His watering eyes shift to the tree, which is now only a pile of blackened branches. He gets up and approaches it. The strong stench of burned meat hits him. It hits him like a ten ton boulder in the face. His throat twists into a painful knot as his knees threaten to give way again.
There, a few feet away from the place where the tree used to stand, he sees a ribbon. One edge is severed and blackened, but the other is still white. He picks it up slowly. After staring at it for several seconds more, he reaches up and ties it around the leather string that holds his hair up in a pony tail. Then he turns around and walks down the dirt pathway that runs by the river. His mother's white ribbon sways in the light breeze that picks up as he walks.
His face is placid, lips pressed tightly together. But his eyes are still tearful. Humans… such insolent creatures. Feeding on fear and turning it into hate. His eyes narrow as he walks down the path.
The ribbon. He'll make sure it wasn't burned for nothing.
…
xXxXxXx
….
/a.n./ So here it is! This story was inspired by a single page in Vol.26; and for those of you who got confused. "Asaha" was Hao's name in his fist incarnation (Heian Period). I would love to know what you guys thought! Till next time!