inspired by utada hikaru's fabulous song "simple and clean" listening
to this song while you read will help you understand what i was feeling
when i wrote this. that is not a requirement however. haha ^_~
feedback would be nice, eh?
Simple and Clean
Scroll One:
Silence
Vejita craned his neck, looking around the gnarled trunk of the tree. His chest rose and fell heavily as tried to catch his breath. Small beads of sweat raced paths down the side of his taut face. 'I'm such a coward...' He looked down at his hand, gripping the hilt of his katana loosely; he could feel the slight trembling that permeated there... it ran through his whole body. He could hear the faint war cries of the samurai as they clashed on the field a quarter mile back the way he had come. Their cries echoed even louder in his mind. He shook his head faintly. His suo sucked gently at his skin, heavy with blood. He reached his left hand up to tug the light blue cloth away from his body; he felt the gentle pressure before the blood soaked garment released hesistantly from his skin. He looked down. The suo was spattered with blood---blood from his own wounds and that of other samurai...he could not tell the difference. The deep crimson stained the faint blue of his top, seeping into the starched white collar his mother had pressed for him only days before.
"Okaasan..." he whispered. Oh the shame he had brought his family the moment he decided to take flight from the field, in terror. His father was the most wealthy merchant in all of Vejita-sei Province, not to mention the clan leader. It had only been right to send his eldest son in the heat of the battle, bringing his family honor by weilding his katana, his father's own weapon. Vejita stared down at the beautifully crafted sword in shame. He could not return home. Not after the disgrace and dishonor he had shown by turning tail and running. Cold tears dared to reach the brim of Vejita's eyes. He would not--could not--shed them. He had never seen such horror as that he had witnessed in the past few days. He was surprised he had lasted this long. 'But I would be better off dead,' he thought bitterly. As a samurai, it was better to accept defeat and perish than to live and bare the embarassment that he had survived while his comrades had fallen.
Vejita decided he should die right there. The blade slid smoothly from its sheath, glinting dangerously in the rays of daylight that peaked through the canopy of the reclusive forest. He twisted the blade this way and that, examing the fine craftsmenship displayed by such a fine weapon. "Feh! I do not deserve to brandish such a katana. But it will be the one to take my life," he spoke outloud to the deathly calm. Vejita Ouji, a hardworking, handsome young man of fifteen, a young boy yearning for life yet overwhelmed by death in a few short days, raised the silver blade above his head and in one swift slicing motion he ran the slick edge over his chest. His life's blood flowing cleanly from the new wound. Vejita dropped the katana, no long having the strength to hold it in his hand. His vision faded in and out as he felt the gushing of a warm liquid rush down his chest. He smiled darkly, for he would die a warrior's death, with his honor and by himself. Vejita fell forward on the dewey moss of the forest floor; his body draped across the roots of the gnarled old tree. His breathing slowed to a rhythmic bare whisper and he remembered nothing else but the faint cry of the warriors from the battle field, filled with passion and honor.
the end.... JUST KIDDING!!! like i would do that. riiiiiiiight. haha! that would be great, right? don't worry; i won't take any more of ur time. bai! ^_~
Vejita awoke to the smell of dry wood burning and ochazuke boiling on a kettle. He opened his eyes weakly, straining them even in the dim light. He heard someone stir beside him and he lept up quickly, ready to defend himself. He saw a young girl of about his age staring up at him with wide eyes. He noticed that he had somehow located his katana, which was placed by his futon, and was now holding it in his aching right hand. He lowered the sword and studied the only other occupant of the dark room. She had dark hair, forest green in hue, swept up and pinned to the back with a few stray locks escaping to frame her face. She had dark blue eyes like the depths of the ocean, that were currently staring up at him in a mixture of curiosity and fear. That thougth disturbed him that this young girl might fear him. He quickly cast the sword aside sitting back down on the futon warily, always keeping an eye on her. After he threw his sword down in a show of trust, she had moved to the fireside, stirring the coals and checking on the ochazuke. She took a small wooden chawan and ladled some of the salty stewed rice and spices into the bowl. She found a pair of chopsticks and set it across the bowl. She pushed the chawan bowl towards him and bowed deeply. Then she stood up to leave.
"Wait!" he called out. She turned around but said nothing. "How did I get here?"
She looked pointedly at the bowl and he took her suggestive meaning. He picked up the bowl and began to slurp the hot stew.
"Well?" he asked over the rim of the bowl. Again, she said nothing but slid open the rice paper doors and left him alone in the dark room. He was stunned for a moment before his mouth twisted into a pout. 'How dare she ignore him?' When he saw her again, he would put her in her place.
The young girl returned an hour later to find Vejita cleaning his sword with a spare scrap of cloth. As soon as he saw her enter, he quickly stood up.
"Gomen. I was bored so I found this cloth in a drawer and thought to shine my katana," he explained. The girl looked at him for a moment, then nodded her acknowledgement. He heard a throat clearing behind her back. The young girl stepped out of the way to let an older woman pass through. The woman was old...practically ancient. Vejita thought she might belong in a museum of relics. The woman chuckled.
"You wish to know why you are here?"
Vejita nodded, looking from the haggard old woman to the beautiful young girl. He found the young girl much more pleasing to look at.
"My young servant girl found you half dead while she was searching the forest for mushrooms last night. I told her not to wander to close to the battling areas but that particular forest is ripe with the shinjitake mushroom," the old woman grumbled while glaring at the girl. The girl only looked back with her wide unassuming eyes.
Vejita fervently nodded his understanding. "A young girl such as yourself has no place so close to battle," he said hotly. He waited for her to reply but when she did not he looked to the old woman. She noticed his confusion and chuckled.
"Do not worry if she does not reply. Buruma, does not speak or has not spoken for many years...as far as I can tell. The man I purchased her from to allow her her freedom told me that he did not think she knew how to talk. She has never spoken a word to my knowlegde. However, when I saw her I could not bare the look of sadly in her eyes. I paid the man for her freedom but she displayed her wish to stay with me. I do not know why though." The old woman turned to peer up at the girl. "Hmm? Why would you wish to stay here with Old Baba when there is great wide world out there for you," she complained jokingly. The young girl, Buruma gave her a small smile, the first one Vejita had seen. He thought it was most beautiful.
"Buruma is a lovely name," he told her. She blushed slightly and looked down at Old Baba as if pleading for help. Baba chuckled.
"It is indeed," she agreed. "Her former master called her that for she did not tell her his name. I doubt she ever had one."
"What does it mean?" he asked curiously.
"Old Baba knitted her eyebrows for a moment. "I believe he said that it was old dialect for 'simple and clean'." Baba shook her head as if trying to reach some stored piece of information by rattling her brains. Old Baba looked up at her young helper and gave a cackle. "Look, we are making her uneasy with all this talk. She is not used to the attention," Baba stated. She turned her attentions back to the young man. Her face turned serious. "You had grave wounds when Buruma brought you here. Luckily, I was able to tend to most of them but there will be marks, you understand."
Vejita nodded.
Baba motioned to Buruma. "Buruma will redress your wounds now. I assume you ate well."
He smiled lightly. "Yes, it was very good. Domo arigatou."
Baba waddled over to a small set of drawers and pulled out a stack of strips of linen. She handed them to Buruma. "You know what to do." Buruma nodded silently and sat down on the side of the futon, next to Vejita who was sitting on top of the covers of his makeshift bed. She unwrapped the bandages over his many wounds and dabbed them lightly with hot water that she had sitting over the fire in a pot. He winced as the boiling water touched his flesh. He noticed it was uncomfortable for her as well with the hot strips of linen in her delicate hands. Vejita suddenly had a burning desire... As she placed one of the bloodied pieces of cloth on the ground, he seized her hands. She looked frightened at him. He eased his grip on her and brought her hands to his lips. He kissed the pads of her fingers. She visibly froze, her whole body stiff and trembling.
"I will not hurt you," he whispered. She relaxed slightly. He continued. "Your hands are beautiful. You should not scar them by burning them with hot water." She just looked at him with her gentle, deep blue eyes. Her skin was pale and fair. She wore a dark maroon kimono, simple in design with golden ochre trim that set off the paleness of her skin wonderfully. He looked in her eyes. His intense black gaze burrowing deep into her unguarded soul. He leaned forward slowly and placed a chaste kiss on her full, pink lips. He loved the taste of her, salty like the ocean spray yet sweet as freshly picked fruit. She made no move to pull away nor did she lean in. He pressed against her with more passion; his lips locking with her own. His rough hands still clutched her smaller ones in his. He pulled away suddenly. There was definite shock in her eyes. He smirked. Releasing her hands, he brushed her deep green bangs away from her face gently, taking in all of her splendid beauty.
"I have not traveled much," he began, breaking the silence. "But I do know that I have not seen beauty that equals yours. Not in the heavens, nor the lush mountains, nor the windswept sea. There is no vision that could rival you," he whispered. Buruma just looked at him, her hands tightly pressed in her lap. She looked down and blushed. He let one hand migrate towards her crown of hair. With a swift movement, he relased the shimmering green locks from their captivity. They bounced freely down her hand. He let his hand roam abandonly through the silky mane of hair. To him, it was comparable to the softest silk that he wished he could possess it. He broke away from her a few minutes later, clearly embarassed..
She raised one of her delicate hands to stroke the angles of his face. 'What a handsome warrior,' she thought. He closed his eyes and leaned into her gentle ministrations. She herself moved back suddenly and went back to wrapping his arm in fresh bandages. He knew she was still shocked by his compliments. It gave him a sort of pleasure to know that maybe this girl could feel the same way about him as he did about her.
Vejita had turned fifteen only months before the warring began, yet at that time his father had non-too-gently reminded him of his duties as eldest son to find a suitable wife and continue his father's legacy. He was on;y fifteen but Vejita knew it was common for young men and women to get married in their early teenage years to ensure a quick establishment of the family and to accumulate alliance between clans. When he was thirteen, Vejit had been interoduced to many of the young girls his age, even younger, from the neighboring provinces and clans. They were likable enough but none that fueled a fire in him like battling did. But this young slip of a girl made him want to conquer the world in her name; just so he could see her smile.
When Buruma was finished, she pressed her hands gently against his chest, avoinding the wounds, and made him lie back on the futon. She tucked the heavy blankets snugly around him and stood up, leaving him alone with only the light of a flickering candle casting romantic shadows on the wall.
Vejita awoke with the faint daylight permeating the room through the rice paper shutters. He stretched gingerly and flipped the covers off his body, quickly being assulted by the brisk morning air. He muscles aches terribly and he hobbled more than walked over to the sliding doors. The crisp autumn air hit him like a knife as he walked out of the room. It was early in the morning and bitterly cold. He cursed silently as he realized he had left his freshly cleaned suo back in the room. 'Bah! It's too late now,' he grumbled as he stalked out of the confines of the small home. He saw that it was a miniature shrine off the side of the main road. Bells tinkled like wind chimes, dangling from the wild treest. Small prayer papers were wrapped and twisted around the lower branches. He walked to the road and knelt by it. By the show of tracks, he knew the army had ridden through here recently but the way the tracks were windswept and fading he knew it had been more than a day. Of course, he knew not which army had been the one to pass by here--- he didn't even know which side had left the victor. He cursed himself silently once more for his cowardice. He headed back towards the buildings of the shrine. He heard the splashing of water over to his right and headed in that direction; the thought of cold water running down his parched throat was enough to make him break out in a jog. As he neared the well, he saw her bent over, lugging a huge wooden bucket from the stone well's depths. Some of the cold water splashed out, soaking her kimono. Her teeth chattered lightly and with each breath that she exhaled, she could see a cloud of fog emerge from her lips. He was quick to step up behind her and take the handle of the heavy bucket. He saw another sitting by her feet.
Buruma was startled out of her daydreams when she felt someone reach over her shoulder to take the bucket from her. She whipped around to see Vejita picking up the other bucket that was beside her feet. She shook her head furiously and dove to take the buckets from him. He gave a sly grin and lifeted them over his head where she could not reach them. She stomped her foot in protest. She motioned to his wounds where the dried blood was clearly visible, seeping through the bandages. He shrugged and turned around to head back to the shrine. She gave an exhasperated sigh and followed him. He grinned at her over his shoulder. Early in the morning, the lack of sleep was clear in her eyes and they were half-lidded and she wore a sleep yexpression. He thought she looked much younger than she was; only her womanly physique would give her away.
The days continued as this. Both young ones waking up at the crack of the dawn to do the chores that were required of Old Baba then leaving the confines of the grounds to wander the contryside. Vejita knew such tranquility could not last forever, even in a land where time seemed to stop. He was thoroughly enchanted with this valley where time did not exist; the neighbors were cheerful and friendly, food appeared to be bountiful, and each day brought out hidden wonders in this ethereal paradise. But things could not last forver, he knew. A valley so untouched by the hatred of the outside world could not exist in eternity; it could forstall the inevitable but all things took a turn for the worst. This is what he feared the most. In his nightmares he could see the flames of Hell leap up, catching the innocence of this peaceful valley and swallowing it whole. The peak of his dream was when he would see her running over the upper crest of the hill, just above the shrine. She was screaming but no sound spilled from her lips. He did not know her voice yet with his eyes he could see the fear. How she longed to scream but could not. He would race to the top of the hill to save her from what demon was chasing her but when he got there she was gone. He woke up each and every night covered in a cool sweat, pulse racing, and truly afraid. He scowled into the darkness. What did she matter to him that he would have night after night of these endless dreams filled with her silent screams.
He threw on his zori sandals and shuffled down the hall, determined to escape his demons in the calm of dawn's first light. He saw Buruma crouched at the end of the worn footpath that led to the main road. His first thought was that she was hurt and he quickly rushed to her side. "Buruma!" he cried out, not caring if he had awaken every beast or man within a ten mile radius. He flew down by her side in panic. She looked up at him startled. Quickly he hauled her to her feet, giving her a once over to make sure she was not harmed. She put a slender finger to her lips, telling him without words that he needed to be quieter. He looked at her sheepishly and mumbled an apology. She gave him a slight smile and turned to walk back to the temple. He took great even strides down the dirt and stone path while she daintily shuffled beside him in her getas. For every one of his steps, she had to take four or five. She reached into the sleeve of her kimono and took out a parchment and held it out for him to read, she avoided his eyes. He slowed as he unfurled the yellowed scroll, damp from the morning dew. Buruma did not slow down however, she maintained her speed and trained her eyes on the pathway ahead of her.
"What is this, Buruma? When did you find it?"
She shook her head and grabbed his arm, unsuccessfully trying to tug him inside the main door of the shrine. She heard Old Baba hobbling down the hall and just as quickly released his arm from her vice.
"What? Such early birds! Buruma, I think some nice ocha is in order," Baba requseted. Buruma bowed politely and scurried off, the sleeves of her kimono clutched tightly in her hand.
Vejita and Old Baba sat across from each other solemnly in the main room of the shrine. An old iron bell hung on the wall behind the old woman and the room was littered with atifacts and relics of religious rituals. Buruma had come and left the fresh pot of tea between them then returned to the cramped kitchen to make breakfast.
"Does she know?" the woman asked finally breaking the silence.
"I don't know. It's hard to tell. She was looking at something when I found her. She might know--- but then--- I don't know..." he finally admitted.
Baba nodded her head knowingly, "An enigma that girl."
"Even if she did know, what would it do? I still have to leave."
"I agree," the old woman muttered begrudgingly. "You could claim asylum here..."
"Asylum...mercy...mean nothing to these people."
"Even your own family?"
"I shamed and dishonored them. You above all people, Baba, should recognize honor."
"I do. But---"
"Enough," he cut in. "I was a coward in the heat of battle and shall pay the price."
"You speak with wisdom above your years."
"War tends to make men out of young boys."
"Yes," she agreed. "It has that power, among other things."
Buruma returned with chawan bowls heaped with rice and furikake (seasoning) and bowls of miso soup. She set them down and then took a seat between Vejita and Old Baba. She looked nervously between the two of them though she tried hard not to show. Vejita could smell her fear. 'I'm afraid, Buruma, I will not be able to protect you as I hoped to,' he thought to himself.
They finished their meal in relative silence. Baba cleared her throat drily, raising her eyebrows at Vejita.
Vejita shifted nervously on the tatami mat. Suddenly, there was a loud whap and both Baba and Vejita looked up. Buruma had her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Her chopsticks were slammed forcefully against the low wooden table. Though she spoke no words, her meaning was clear. She looked pointedly at Vejita.
"I have to go," he stated obstinately. Her eyes locked with his, unwavering in intensity. "No doubt you read the summons," he continued. "They're looking for me and I won't put you or Old Baba in trouble for harboring a potential vagrant," he growled.
She shook her head adamantly, silently begging him to stay within the sanctity of the shrine.
"She may have a point. You could always claim sanctuary within the confines of these sared walls."
Vejita scoffed at the notion. "Just another point to prove my cowardice. That is all they need. They will come asylum* or not. And who will I have to protect me?" he asked sardonically. "An old woman and a mute."
Buruma pushed back from the wooden table, jarring the contents to spill on the floor. Yet she paid them no mind as she raced out of doors.
Baba bent to pick up a tea cup which now carried a good-sized chip in its side. "You should not say such foolish things, Vejita-kun. You're quick tongue will land you in trouble one day."
Buruma picked up the ends of her kimono and stumbled through the underbrush behind the shrine. Tears pricked her eyes, daring to slide down her cheeks. She absently pushed them aside with the back of her sleeves. Stumbling over the roots and rocks that darted the path way in her getas, she manuuvered deeper into the underbrush. 'So that is what he thinks of me... A helpless mute.' Inside she shook with rage. She had saved him from the brink of death, taken care of him when he could not take care of himself, even come to feel... she did not know what she felt.
After they had become something of friends, Vejita would tell her all about his family and friends back home. He didn't fear that she would tell anyone, she afterall, spoke not a word, ever. It had been easy to teach him to read her ways however. For though she didn't have words, she had others to express herself.
Buruma stopped as she heard the telltale rushing of water. A few feet into the brush lay a tumbling brook headed by a miniature waterfall. This was where she came when she wished to be alone; not even Vejita knew of this place.
Yet sometimes she wished she coulf cry out in anger...sorrow... shout with joy...happiness... whisper into the night as she lay with her dearest companion, deep in slumber, how much she loved him.
When the thought first struck Buruma in the middle of the night as she watched Vejita pouce around at the front of the temple, trying to catch fireflies, she had cast it aside. She did not think she could love any man after... She had longed blocked the memories of that night into the far reachest of her mind. The consequences... she vowed never to speak again lest the men recognize her voice and come after her.
Buruma shook her head to dispell the faint fluttering of the memories as they threatened to emerge.
'I like the way she screams,' one chuckled in a raspy voice.
'Yes, such a pretty voice,' another voice added.
Buruma wrapped her arms around her body, pulling the kimono dangerously tight. Her lungs racked with silent sobs as she tried to gain her breath. It had take so long to forget what had transpired that night.
There had to be something wrong with her... for Kami let something so bad happen to her. Old Baba often talk of karma and the ways of reincarnation. The only way Buruma could see why that awful that had happened was that she had a bad soul inside... she deserved it. After that night, she had never spoken again for fear that the men would remember her voice. And after a time, she had simply accepted that she could speak--- would not.
When Old Baba had purchased her from the slavetrader, who in turn had found Buruma lying unconscious by a rice paddy and claimed her for his 'stock,' had never questioned Buruma's nonverbal ways. She accepted the young girl as she ways-- accepting that Buruma had created this 'mute' facade for herself and the old woman would not try to change her as long as she did her work. Old Baba was astute, Buruma knew. The elderly witchlady believed Buruma could speak and would when she wanted to-- something had happened that pushed the young girl into silence.
Buruma wiped the last of her tears from her wet cheeks. She had told no one. Who would believe her? It was dangerous in this day in age to accuse a man of attacking a girl. The man would most likely be cleared of the charges and in the end, he would seek out the girl who dared face him and she would promptly 'disappear.' Buruma shuddered. She did not want to bring that fate upon herself. Her would have fought for her honor? No one but herself.. a casualty that could not be afforded.
Buruma's body felt heavy from exhaustion and lay down on the dewey moss with the soft lulling of the rushing water. Within moments, she was sleeping softly as the sun slid across the sky, making its way to the other horizon, where it would seek its' nighttime respite.
Buruma awoke with a start. The first thing she noticed was that it was dusk. The wind whipped around her and she shivered.
'Oh no!'
She picked herself up from the warm moss and raced back towards the temple. She held the telltale 'gong' of the evening bell as Old Baba stood upon tiptoes on a wooden stool and beat the copper gong with the mallet. Buruma skidded to halt in front of her guardian. Old Baba looked over her shoulder at the girl who was out of breath and had a bewildered look in her eyes.
"He's already left, a good way up the path by now," Baba told the girl. Buruma shot off like an arrow. She could not miss him! How would she live without being able to say good-bye to her closest friend...the one she loved...?
She could barely make him out over the crest of the hill; he had just reached the main path. Her feet pounded furiously on the gravelled path but he kept up his steady pace, moving farther and farther away.
When you walk away, you don't hear me say, "Please... oh, baby..."
Buruma stopped suddenly when she felt the earth began to quake. A thousand horse hooves moved the ground beneath her feet and she was forced to crouch low just to keep from falling. She watched as a small army massed from points in the forest and grouped at the head of crest. She watched as the herd of men on horseback approached Vejita who had a sack thrown over his back. Buruma strained her ears but they were too far away to hear.
"Halt!" one of the men on horseback called out to the young man. Vejita stopped as he reached the top of the pathway, squinting up at whoever had addressed him. The man on horsebak looked startled for a moment.
"Young Master Vejita?"
Vejita glared at the man, appraising him. "Hmph. It is I."
The man broke out in a grin. "We've been searching everyway for you, Young Master," the man answered. Another horseman broke from the group to trot up to Vejita on his horse.
"I assume you've seen the summons."
Vejita nodded his ascent. "I was hoping to be away from here before you arrived," Vejita stated honestly.
The man looked taken back by Vejita's blunt answer.
"On foot, you would not have reached far," he said.
Vejita shrugged. "The shrine back down the road---leave it untouched."
The man gave an arrogant smirk. "In your position, you are in no way to make demands."
Vejita drew his katana from its sheath. "You will obey or I will cut you down where you stand," Vejita warned.
The crowd of samurai chuckled. Vejita was vastly outnumbered yet he maintained a level-head and his warrior's spirit.
The older man nodded his 'submission.' "You will come willingly if we leave the shrine alone?"
Vejita stated his affirmation, 'on his honor.' A warrior's honor was nothing to be taken lightly. It was every samurai's reason for being, his code and his life. The man took Vejita's word but jested. "Yet a warrior who flees battle has no honor left to stand by..." he mused out loud.
Vejita turned a vivid shade of red at his remark. "Speak like that again, soldier, and I'll have your head!"
"...But within your chest beats the brave heart of the warrior." The man regarded Vejita for a moment. "Are you ready to return home and face your fate?"
Vejita gave him his answer without a moment's hesitation. "I am." Another man broke away from the herd with a bay gelding in tow by a lead rope. He tossed the rope who mounted the steed deftly. Vejita never once looked back down the worn, beaten path leading towards the shrine. If he had, he would have seen a young girl of about fifteen year, clutching her hands to her chest, the wind playing wildly with her hair, the color of the deep forest. Her blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears, watching his retreating form, hoping to catch his backward glance.
Buruma watched, helpless, as he rode off with the band of horsemen. She wanted to call out to him; to beg him to stay with all the words her heart possessed but she could do nothing but stare, her feet fixed to the earthen ground.
'We will me one day again, Vejita-kun. Somewhere out there...' She shook her head in admonishment at her silly fantasy. 'No, I don't think life is that simple...'
Vejita rode for two days. His whole body ached from the rigors of rocking within the sway of his mount's back. They had no been kind enough to give him a saddle pad, so he rode bareback. He saw the 'fortress' of his father's mansion looming in the distance. The party galloped through the maze of rice paddies with the multitude of field workers gathering the bushels of grain. As they slowed before the lowering drawbridge, Vejita sucked in his breath. He knew he would pay the prive for his cowardice. The recluse in the shrine had been nice but things of that nature never lasted long. Befriending the girl has been a mistake he had known all along in the back of his mind for he knew they would come searching for him when his body was not counted among the dead. He feared his father's wrath but pain was fleeting. He felt a small pain that he recognized as misery. He missed her company a bit, he would admit that much. But he had the rest of his life to think about. Perhaps, when he father had finally forgiven him and when he was old enough to travel on his own... perhaps he would seek out Old Baba's shrine and the one true friend he had left behind. Looking up at the fearful, towering walls of the Vejita-sei mansion, Vejita shook his head slightly. 'No, fool, I do not think life is that simple," he concluded before the party marched forward in the open jaws of fate.
eh... took me frickin' forever for this. serious... this is the first time i covered time passage in one chapter (long term at least). a bit awkward but i hope it was not noticeable. so what do you think? eh... it is sad but that's the point. hope you liked! ^_~ please r/r!
rev kurame
Simple and Clean
Scroll One:
Silence
Vejita craned his neck, looking around the gnarled trunk of the tree. His chest rose and fell heavily as tried to catch his breath. Small beads of sweat raced paths down the side of his taut face. 'I'm such a coward...' He looked down at his hand, gripping the hilt of his katana loosely; he could feel the slight trembling that permeated there... it ran through his whole body. He could hear the faint war cries of the samurai as they clashed on the field a quarter mile back the way he had come. Their cries echoed even louder in his mind. He shook his head faintly. His suo sucked gently at his skin, heavy with blood. He reached his left hand up to tug the light blue cloth away from his body; he felt the gentle pressure before the blood soaked garment released hesistantly from his skin. He looked down. The suo was spattered with blood---blood from his own wounds and that of other samurai...he could not tell the difference. The deep crimson stained the faint blue of his top, seeping into the starched white collar his mother had pressed for him only days before.
"Okaasan..." he whispered. Oh the shame he had brought his family the moment he decided to take flight from the field, in terror. His father was the most wealthy merchant in all of Vejita-sei Province, not to mention the clan leader. It had only been right to send his eldest son in the heat of the battle, bringing his family honor by weilding his katana, his father's own weapon. Vejita stared down at the beautifully crafted sword in shame. He could not return home. Not after the disgrace and dishonor he had shown by turning tail and running. Cold tears dared to reach the brim of Vejita's eyes. He would not--could not--shed them. He had never seen such horror as that he had witnessed in the past few days. He was surprised he had lasted this long. 'But I would be better off dead,' he thought bitterly. As a samurai, it was better to accept defeat and perish than to live and bare the embarassment that he had survived while his comrades had fallen.
Vejita decided he should die right there. The blade slid smoothly from its sheath, glinting dangerously in the rays of daylight that peaked through the canopy of the reclusive forest. He twisted the blade this way and that, examing the fine craftsmenship displayed by such a fine weapon. "Feh! I do not deserve to brandish such a katana. But it will be the one to take my life," he spoke outloud to the deathly calm. Vejita Ouji, a hardworking, handsome young man of fifteen, a young boy yearning for life yet overwhelmed by death in a few short days, raised the silver blade above his head and in one swift slicing motion he ran the slick edge over his chest. His life's blood flowing cleanly from the new wound. Vejita dropped the katana, no long having the strength to hold it in his hand. His vision faded in and out as he felt the gushing of a warm liquid rush down his chest. He smiled darkly, for he would die a warrior's death, with his honor and by himself. Vejita fell forward on the dewey moss of the forest floor; his body draped across the roots of the gnarled old tree. His breathing slowed to a rhythmic bare whisper and he remembered nothing else but the faint cry of the warriors from the battle field, filled with passion and honor.
the end.... JUST KIDDING!!! like i would do that. riiiiiiiight. haha! that would be great, right? don't worry; i won't take any more of ur time. bai! ^_~
Vejita awoke to the smell of dry wood burning and ochazuke boiling on a kettle. He opened his eyes weakly, straining them even in the dim light. He heard someone stir beside him and he lept up quickly, ready to defend himself. He saw a young girl of about his age staring up at him with wide eyes. He noticed that he had somehow located his katana, which was placed by his futon, and was now holding it in his aching right hand. He lowered the sword and studied the only other occupant of the dark room. She had dark hair, forest green in hue, swept up and pinned to the back with a few stray locks escaping to frame her face. She had dark blue eyes like the depths of the ocean, that were currently staring up at him in a mixture of curiosity and fear. That thougth disturbed him that this young girl might fear him. He quickly cast the sword aside sitting back down on the futon warily, always keeping an eye on her. After he threw his sword down in a show of trust, she had moved to the fireside, stirring the coals and checking on the ochazuke. She took a small wooden chawan and ladled some of the salty stewed rice and spices into the bowl. She found a pair of chopsticks and set it across the bowl. She pushed the chawan bowl towards him and bowed deeply. Then she stood up to leave.
"Wait!" he called out. She turned around but said nothing. "How did I get here?"
She looked pointedly at the bowl and he took her suggestive meaning. He picked up the bowl and began to slurp the hot stew.
"Well?" he asked over the rim of the bowl. Again, she said nothing but slid open the rice paper doors and left him alone in the dark room. He was stunned for a moment before his mouth twisted into a pout. 'How dare she ignore him?' When he saw her again, he would put her in her place.
The young girl returned an hour later to find Vejita cleaning his sword with a spare scrap of cloth. As soon as he saw her enter, he quickly stood up.
"Gomen. I was bored so I found this cloth in a drawer and thought to shine my katana," he explained. The girl looked at him for a moment, then nodded her acknowledgement. He heard a throat clearing behind her back. The young girl stepped out of the way to let an older woman pass through. The woman was old...practically ancient. Vejita thought she might belong in a museum of relics. The woman chuckled.
"You wish to know why you are here?"
Vejita nodded, looking from the haggard old woman to the beautiful young girl. He found the young girl much more pleasing to look at.
"My young servant girl found you half dead while she was searching the forest for mushrooms last night. I told her not to wander to close to the battling areas but that particular forest is ripe with the shinjitake mushroom," the old woman grumbled while glaring at the girl. The girl only looked back with her wide unassuming eyes.
Vejita fervently nodded his understanding. "A young girl such as yourself has no place so close to battle," he said hotly. He waited for her to reply but when she did not he looked to the old woman. She noticed his confusion and chuckled.
"Do not worry if she does not reply. Buruma, does not speak or has not spoken for many years...as far as I can tell. The man I purchased her from to allow her her freedom told me that he did not think she knew how to talk. She has never spoken a word to my knowlegde. However, when I saw her I could not bare the look of sadly in her eyes. I paid the man for her freedom but she displayed her wish to stay with me. I do not know why though." The old woman turned to peer up at the girl. "Hmm? Why would you wish to stay here with Old Baba when there is great wide world out there for you," she complained jokingly. The young girl, Buruma gave her a small smile, the first one Vejita had seen. He thought it was most beautiful.
"Buruma is a lovely name," he told her. She blushed slightly and looked down at Old Baba as if pleading for help. Baba chuckled.
"It is indeed," she agreed. "Her former master called her that for she did not tell her his name. I doubt she ever had one."
"What does it mean?" he asked curiously.
"Old Baba knitted her eyebrows for a moment. "I believe he said that it was old dialect for 'simple and clean'." Baba shook her head as if trying to reach some stored piece of information by rattling her brains. Old Baba looked up at her young helper and gave a cackle. "Look, we are making her uneasy with all this talk. She is not used to the attention," Baba stated. She turned her attentions back to the young man. Her face turned serious. "You had grave wounds when Buruma brought you here. Luckily, I was able to tend to most of them but there will be marks, you understand."
Vejita nodded.
Baba motioned to Buruma. "Buruma will redress your wounds now. I assume you ate well."
He smiled lightly. "Yes, it was very good. Domo arigatou."
Baba waddled over to a small set of drawers and pulled out a stack of strips of linen. She handed them to Buruma. "You know what to do." Buruma nodded silently and sat down on the side of the futon, next to Vejita who was sitting on top of the covers of his makeshift bed. She unwrapped the bandages over his many wounds and dabbed them lightly with hot water that she had sitting over the fire in a pot. He winced as the boiling water touched his flesh. He noticed it was uncomfortable for her as well with the hot strips of linen in her delicate hands. Vejita suddenly had a burning desire... As she placed one of the bloodied pieces of cloth on the ground, he seized her hands. She looked frightened at him. He eased his grip on her and brought her hands to his lips. He kissed the pads of her fingers. She visibly froze, her whole body stiff and trembling.
"I will not hurt you," he whispered. She relaxed slightly. He continued. "Your hands are beautiful. You should not scar them by burning them with hot water." She just looked at him with her gentle, deep blue eyes. Her skin was pale and fair. She wore a dark maroon kimono, simple in design with golden ochre trim that set off the paleness of her skin wonderfully. He looked in her eyes. His intense black gaze burrowing deep into her unguarded soul. He leaned forward slowly and placed a chaste kiss on her full, pink lips. He loved the taste of her, salty like the ocean spray yet sweet as freshly picked fruit. She made no move to pull away nor did she lean in. He pressed against her with more passion; his lips locking with her own. His rough hands still clutched her smaller ones in his. He pulled away suddenly. There was definite shock in her eyes. He smirked. Releasing her hands, he brushed her deep green bangs away from her face gently, taking in all of her splendid beauty.
"I have not traveled much," he began, breaking the silence. "But I do know that I have not seen beauty that equals yours. Not in the heavens, nor the lush mountains, nor the windswept sea. There is no vision that could rival you," he whispered. Buruma just looked at him, her hands tightly pressed in her lap. She looked down and blushed. He let one hand migrate towards her crown of hair. With a swift movement, he relased the shimmering green locks from their captivity. They bounced freely down her hand. He let his hand roam abandonly through the silky mane of hair. To him, it was comparable to the softest silk that he wished he could possess it. He broke away from her a few minutes later, clearly embarassed..
She raised one of her delicate hands to stroke the angles of his face. 'What a handsome warrior,' she thought. He closed his eyes and leaned into her gentle ministrations. She herself moved back suddenly and went back to wrapping his arm in fresh bandages. He knew she was still shocked by his compliments. It gave him a sort of pleasure to know that maybe this girl could feel the same way about him as he did about her.
Vejita had turned fifteen only months before the warring began, yet at that time his father had non-too-gently reminded him of his duties as eldest son to find a suitable wife and continue his father's legacy. He was on;y fifteen but Vejita knew it was common for young men and women to get married in their early teenage years to ensure a quick establishment of the family and to accumulate alliance between clans. When he was thirteen, Vejit had been interoduced to many of the young girls his age, even younger, from the neighboring provinces and clans. They were likable enough but none that fueled a fire in him like battling did. But this young slip of a girl made him want to conquer the world in her name; just so he could see her smile.
When Buruma was finished, she pressed her hands gently against his chest, avoinding the wounds, and made him lie back on the futon. She tucked the heavy blankets snugly around him and stood up, leaving him alone with only the light of a flickering candle casting romantic shadows on the wall.
Vejita awoke with the faint daylight permeating the room through the rice paper shutters. He stretched gingerly and flipped the covers off his body, quickly being assulted by the brisk morning air. He muscles aches terribly and he hobbled more than walked over to the sliding doors. The crisp autumn air hit him like a knife as he walked out of the room. It was early in the morning and bitterly cold. He cursed silently as he realized he had left his freshly cleaned suo back in the room. 'Bah! It's too late now,' he grumbled as he stalked out of the confines of the small home. He saw that it was a miniature shrine off the side of the main road. Bells tinkled like wind chimes, dangling from the wild treest. Small prayer papers were wrapped and twisted around the lower branches. He walked to the road and knelt by it. By the show of tracks, he knew the army had ridden through here recently but the way the tracks were windswept and fading he knew it had been more than a day. Of course, he knew not which army had been the one to pass by here--- he didn't even know which side had left the victor. He cursed himself silently once more for his cowardice. He headed back towards the buildings of the shrine. He heard the splashing of water over to his right and headed in that direction; the thought of cold water running down his parched throat was enough to make him break out in a jog. As he neared the well, he saw her bent over, lugging a huge wooden bucket from the stone well's depths. Some of the cold water splashed out, soaking her kimono. Her teeth chattered lightly and with each breath that she exhaled, she could see a cloud of fog emerge from her lips. He was quick to step up behind her and take the handle of the heavy bucket. He saw another sitting by her feet.
Buruma was startled out of her daydreams when she felt someone reach over her shoulder to take the bucket from her. She whipped around to see Vejita picking up the other bucket that was beside her feet. She shook her head furiously and dove to take the buckets from him. He gave a sly grin and lifeted them over his head where she could not reach them. She stomped her foot in protest. She motioned to his wounds where the dried blood was clearly visible, seeping through the bandages. He shrugged and turned around to head back to the shrine. She gave an exhasperated sigh and followed him. He grinned at her over his shoulder. Early in the morning, the lack of sleep was clear in her eyes and they were half-lidded and she wore a sleep yexpression. He thought she looked much younger than she was; only her womanly physique would give her away.
The days continued as this. Both young ones waking up at the crack of the dawn to do the chores that were required of Old Baba then leaving the confines of the grounds to wander the contryside. Vejita knew such tranquility could not last forever, even in a land where time seemed to stop. He was thoroughly enchanted with this valley where time did not exist; the neighbors were cheerful and friendly, food appeared to be bountiful, and each day brought out hidden wonders in this ethereal paradise. But things could not last forver, he knew. A valley so untouched by the hatred of the outside world could not exist in eternity; it could forstall the inevitable but all things took a turn for the worst. This is what he feared the most. In his nightmares he could see the flames of Hell leap up, catching the innocence of this peaceful valley and swallowing it whole. The peak of his dream was when he would see her running over the upper crest of the hill, just above the shrine. She was screaming but no sound spilled from her lips. He did not know her voice yet with his eyes he could see the fear. How she longed to scream but could not. He would race to the top of the hill to save her from what demon was chasing her but when he got there she was gone. He woke up each and every night covered in a cool sweat, pulse racing, and truly afraid. He scowled into the darkness. What did she matter to him that he would have night after night of these endless dreams filled with her silent screams.
He threw on his zori sandals and shuffled down the hall, determined to escape his demons in the calm of dawn's first light. He saw Buruma crouched at the end of the worn footpath that led to the main road. His first thought was that she was hurt and he quickly rushed to her side. "Buruma!" he cried out, not caring if he had awaken every beast or man within a ten mile radius. He flew down by her side in panic. She looked up at him startled. Quickly he hauled her to her feet, giving her a once over to make sure she was not harmed. She put a slender finger to her lips, telling him without words that he needed to be quieter. He looked at her sheepishly and mumbled an apology. She gave him a slight smile and turned to walk back to the temple. He took great even strides down the dirt and stone path while she daintily shuffled beside him in her getas. For every one of his steps, she had to take four or five. She reached into the sleeve of her kimono and took out a parchment and held it out for him to read, she avoided his eyes. He slowed as he unfurled the yellowed scroll, damp from the morning dew. Buruma did not slow down however, she maintained her speed and trained her eyes on the pathway ahead of her.
"What is this, Buruma? When did you find it?"
She shook her head and grabbed his arm, unsuccessfully trying to tug him inside the main door of the shrine. She heard Old Baba hobbling down the hall and just as quickly released his arm from her vice.
"What? Such early birds! Buruma, I think some nice ocha is in order," Baba requseted. Buruma bowed politely and scurried off, the sleeves of her kimono clutched tightly in her hand.
Vejita and Old Baba sat across from each other solemnly in the main room of the shrine. An old iron bell hung on the wall behind the old woman and the room was littered with atifacts and relics of religious rituals. Buruma had come and left the fresh pot of tea between them then returned to the cramped kitchen to make breakfast.
"Does she know?" the woman asked finally breaking the silence.
"I don't know. It's hard to tell. She was looking at something when I found her. She might know--- but then--- I don't know..." he finally admitted.
Baba nodded her head knowingly, "An enigma that girl."
"Even if she did know, what would it do? I still have to leave."
"I agree," the old woman muttered begrudgingly. "You could claim asylum here..."
"Asylum...mercy...mean nothing to these people."
"Even your own family?"
"I shamed and dishonored them. You above all people, Baba, should recognize honor."
"I do. But---"
"Enough," he cut in. "I was a coward in the heat of battle and shall pay the price."
"You speak with wisdom above your years."
"War tends to make men out of young boys."
"Yes," she agreed. "It has that power, among other things."
Buruma returned with chawan bowls heaped with rice and furikake (seasoning) and bowls of miso soup. She set them down and then took a seat between Vejita and Old Baba. She looked nervously between the two of them though she tried hard not to show. Vejita could smell her fear. 'I'm afraid, Buruma, I will not be able to protect you as I hoped to,' he thought to himself.
They finished their meal in relative silence. Baba cleared her throat drily, raising her eyebrows at Vejita.
Vejita shifted nervously on the tatami mat. Suddenly, there was a loud whap and both Baba and Vejita looked up. Buruma had her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Her chopsticks were slammed forcefully against the low wooden table. Though she spoke no words, her meaning was clear. She looked pointedly at Vejita.
"I have to go," he stated obstinately. Her eyes locked with his, unwavering in intensity. "No doubt you read the summons," he continued. "They're looking for me and I won't put you or Old Baba in trouble for harboring a potential vagrant," he growled.
She shook her head adamantly, silently begging him to stay within the sanctity of the shrine.
"She may have a point. You could always claim sanctuary within the confines of these sared walls."
Vejita scoffed at the notion. "Just another point to prove my cowardice. That is all they need. They will come asylum* or not. And who will I have to protect me?" he asked sardonically. "An old woman and a mute."
Buruma pushed back from the wooden table, jarring the contents to spill on the floor. Yet she paid them no mind as she raced out of doors.
Baba bent to pick up a tea cup which now carried a good-sized chip in its side. "You should not say such foolish things, Vejita-kun. You're quick tongue will land you in trouble one day."
Buruma picked up the ends of her kimono and stumbled through the underbrush behind the shrine. Tears pricked her eyes, daring to slide down her cheeks. She absently pushed them aside with the back of her sleeves. Stumbling over the roots and rocks that darted the path way in her getas, she manuuvered deeper into the underbrush. 'So that is what he thinks of me... A helpless mute.' Inside she shook with rage. She had saved him from the brink of death, taken care of him when he could not take care of himself, even come to feel... she did not know what she felt.
After they had become something of friends, Vejita would tell her all about his family and friends back home. He didn't fear that she would tell anyone, she afterall, spoke not a word, ever. It had been easy to teach him to read her ways however. For though she didn't have words, she had others to express herself.
Buruma stopped as she heard the telltale rushing of water. A few feet into the brush lay a tumbling brook headed by a miniature waterfall. This was where she came when she wished to be alone; not even Vejita knew of this place.
Yet sometimes she wished she coulf cry out in anger...sorrow... shout with joy...happiness... whisper into the night as she lay with her dearest companion, deep in slumber, how much she loved him.
When the thought first struck Buruma in the middle of the night as she watched Vejita pouce around at the front of the temple, trying to catch fireflies, she had cast it aside. She did not think she could love any man after... She had longed blocked the memories of that night into the far reachest of her mind. The consequences... she vowed never to speak again lest the men recognize her voice and come after her.
Buruma shook her head to dispell the faint fluttering of the memories as they threatened to emerge.
'I like the way she screams,' one chuckled in a raspy voice.
'Yes, such a pretty voice,' another voice added.
Buruma wrapped her arms around her body, pulling the kimono dangerously tight. Her lungs racked with silent sobs as she tried to gain her breath. It had take so long to forget what had transpired that night.
There had to be something wrong with her... for Kami let something so bad happen to her. Old Baba often talk of karma and the ways of reincarnation. The only way Buruma could see why that awful that had happened was that she had a bad soul inside... she deserved it. After that night, she had never spoken again for fear that the men would remember her voice. And after a time, she had simply accepted that she could speak--- would not.
When Old Baba had purchased her from the slavetrader, who in turn had found Buruma lying unconscious by a rice paddy and claimed her for his 'stock,' had never questioned Buruma's nonverbal ways. She accepted the young girl as she ways-- accepting that Buruma had created this 'mute' facade for herself and the old woman would not try to change her as long as she did her work. Old Baba was astute, Buruma knew. The elderly witchlady believed Buruma could speak and would when she wanted to-- something had happened that pushed the young girl into silence.
Buruma wiped the last of her tears from her wet cheeks. She had told no one. Who would believe her? It was dangerous in this day in age to accuse a man of attacking a girl. The man would most likely be cleared of the charges and in the end, he would seek out the girl who dared face him and she would promptly 'disappear.' Buruma shuddered. She did not want to bring that fate upon herself. Her would have fought for her honor? No one but herself.. a casualty that could not be afforded.
Buruma's body felt heavy from exhaustion and lay down on the dewey moss with the soft lulling of the rushing water. Within moments, she was sleeping softly as the sun slid across the sky, making its way to the other horizon, where it would seek its' nighttime respite.
Buruma awoke with a start. The first thing she noticed was that it was dusk. The wind whipped around her and she shivered.
'Oh no!'
She picked herself up from the warm moss and raced back towards the temple. She held the telltale 'gong' of the evening bell as Old Baba stood upon tiptoes on a wooden stool and beat the copper gong with the mallet. Buruma skidded to halt in front of her guardian. Old Baba looked over her shoulder at the girl who was out of breath and had a bewildered look in her eyes.
"He's already left, a good way up the path by now," Baba told the girl. Buruma shot off like an arrow. She could not miss him! How would she live without being able to say good-bye to her closest friend...the one she loved...?
She could barely make him out over the crest of the hill; he had just reached the main path. Her feet pounded furiously on the gravelled path but he kept up his steady pace, moving farther and farther away.
When you walk away, you don't hear me say, "Please... oh, baby..."
Buruma stopped suddenly when she felt the earth began to quake. A thousand horse hooves moved the ground beneath her feet and she was forced to crouch low just to keep from falling. She watched as a small army massed from points in the forest and grouped at the head of crest. She watched as the herd of men on horseback approached Vejita who had a sack thrown over his back. Buruma strained her ears but they were too far away to hear.
"Halt!" one of the men on horseback called out to the young man. Vejita stopped as he reached the top of the pathway, squinting up at whoever had addressed him. The man on horsebak looked startled for a moment.
"Young Master Vejita?"
Vejita glared at the man, appraising him. "Hmph. It is I."
The man broke out in a grin. "We've been searching everyway for you, Young Master," the man answered. Another horseman broke from the group to trot up to Vejita on his horse.
"I assume you've seen the summons."
Vejita nodded his ascent. "I was hoping to be away from here before you arrived," Vejita stated honestly.
The man looked taken back by Vejita's blunt answer.
"On foot, you would not have reached far," he said.
Vejita shrugged. "The shrine back down the road---leave it untouched."
The man gave an arrogant smirk. "In your position, you are in no way to make demands."
Vejita drew his katana from its sheath. "You will obey or I will cut you down where you stand," Vejita warned.
The crowd of samurai chuckled. Vejita was vastly outnumbered yet he maintained a level-head and his warrior's spirit.
The older man nodded his 'submission.' "You will come willingly if we leave the shrine alone?"
Vejita stated his affirmation, 'on his honor.' A warrior's honor was nothing to be taken lightly. It was every samurai's reason for being, his code and his life. The man took Vejita's word but jested. "Yet a warrior who flees battle has no honor left to stand by..." he mused out loud.
Vejita turned a vivid shade of red at his remark. "Speak like that again, soldier, and I'll have your head!"
"...But within your chest beats the brave heart of the warrior." The man regarded Vejita for a moment. "Are you ready to return home and face your fate?"
Vejita gave him his answer without a moment's hesitation. "I am." Another man broke away from the herd with a bay gelding in tow by a lead rope. He tossed the rope who mounted the steed deftly. Vejita never once looked back down the worn, beaten path leading towards the shrine. If he had, he would have seen a young girl of about fifteen year, clutching her hands to her chest, the wind playing wildly with her hair, the color of the deep forest. Her blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears, watching his retreating form, hoping to catch his backward glance.
Buruma watched, helpless, as he rode off with the band of horsemen. She wanted to call out to him; to beg him to stay with all the words her heart possessed but she could do nothing but stare, her feet fixed to the earthen ground.
'We will me one day again, Vejita-kun. Somewhere out there...' She shook her head in admonishment at her silly fantasy. 'No, I don't think life is that simple...'
Vejita rode for two days. His whole body ached from the rigors of rocking within the sway of his mount's back. They had no been kind enough to give him a saddle pad, so he rode bareback. He saw the 'fortress' of his father's mansion looming in the distance. The party galloped through the maze of rice paddies with the multitude of field workers gathering the bushels of grain. As they slowed before the lowering drawbridge, Vejita sucked in his breath. He knew he would pay the prive for his cowardice. The recluse in the shrine had been nice but things of that nature never lasted long. Befriending the girl has been a mistake he had known all along in the back of his mind for he knew they would come searching for him when his body was not counted among the dead. He feared his father's wrath but pain was fleeting. He felt a small pain that he recognized as misery. He missed her company a bit, he would admit that much. But he had the rest of his life to think about. Perhaps, when he father had finally forgiven him and when he was old enough to travel on his own... perhaps he would seek out Old Baba's shrine and the one true friend he had left behind. Looking up at the fearful, towering walls of the Vejita-sei mansion, Vejita shook his head slightly. 'No, fool, I do not think life is that simple," he concluded before the party marched forward in the open jaws of fate.
eh... took me frickin' forever for this. serious... this is the first time i covered time passage in one chapter (long term at least). a bit awkward but i hope it was not noticeable. so what do you think? eh... it is sad but that's the point. hope you liked! ^_~ please r/r!
rev kurame