Extreme and more or less impossible. A Mikagami/Mifuyu/Meguri thing. Triple M.
I suck. Live with it.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Brain too lazy to come up with a funny way of saying 'Don't sue me, I'm broke'. Started off December with a hundred and twenty bucks. Down to four, now. Enjoy.
crimson
Two figures, seated on the wood that was once conscientiously polished, but now was scruffy. Silhouettes in the glow of the filtered rays; sun setting, mourning, grieving self-departure.
"You've grown up." The voice was hardly friendly, yet in its harshness the faintest strain of pride could be detected.
"Cut the crap." The orange-red light was cast on his heart-shaped face, cheekbones clear-cut, chin angular.
"You're very unlike your sister when she was your age," the older man mused.
"She only got to live to my age," he spat. "Thanks to you."
"…"
"You killed her." The statement was spoken quietly, the tone steely; chillingly so. Mikagami breathed slowly, evenly. Was it just him or had his voice trembled ever-so-slightly?
"…Did I?"
"Denial will get you nowhere."
Meguri looked at him evenly. "What am I denying?"
Killing her.
"You killed her." It sounded oddly forced, almost to the brink of hysteria.
Something inside him smiled. His student indeed. The child would go to any lengths to keep his composure; protect himself. It was something drummed into him since he had been ten. Never, never expose a vulnerability. The slightest mistake will get you killed before you can even touch your sword.
It would have fooled anybody else, too. But his master wasn't 'anybody else'.
"You didn't hear me the first time. Did I?"
Did you?
"It's perfectly clear. You killed her. Now you have to die. I don't have to get you to admit it before killing you."
Alas, nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
"…She's not dead, Mikagami!" His voice was sharp.
The long-haired young man froze. There was a pause, then, "…What did you say?"
He chuckled bitterly. Something inside of him was screaming for him to do otherwise, but thoughts can't overcome instinct. "…Idiot. She's only dead if you think of her that way. She's still here - all around us."
Mikagami's eyes narrowed. "I don't have the time for a philosophy lesson."
Good boy. Be mad. Be angry. Keep it up. Keep being angry - angrier. Do you feel that rage flowing through your veins? Use that. Use it. Anger is the best adrenaline, use it to sustain you. Heaven knows it lasted you through the last seven years.
"…Are you blaming me for her death? Or are you blaming yourself? The fault was yours."
His eyes widened slightly, suddenly. Then, swallowing indiscreetly, he went back to his normal mood. "…"
Meguri sighed inwardly. How had it come to this? He had had a pupil – a dream pupil, as many would say. Intelligent, frighteningly determined, and with talent that far surpassed that of his master.
Mikagami Tokiya was a genius.
Mikagami Tokiya had been his protégé.
Had.
But, as he had realized over time, Mikagami's heart hadn't been in Hyomon Ken. It had been buried in his sister and layers upon layers of hope for revenge. Hope for revenge. He ran the phrase in his head sadly, taking solace in the humour of its irony. How hope could be associated with something so utterly against its very principle.
Mikagami didn't want to learn Hyomon Ken. He never had.
When his sister was alive, he had been devoted to his sister's life. When his sister was dead, he had been devoted to his sister's death. So somewhere in the wonderfully simple-to-excecute plan, the devotion to the sword had been lost.
But devotion or not, they were bound as teacher and pupil.
"Do you want to know the truth?"
A simple question.
"I already know the truth." A sentence carved with hate so bitter and cold that it seemed to radiate throughout the room and kill any strain of happiness present or lost.
"Do you, now?" The curve of the lips was sardonic. "But is the truth what it seems, or is there something beyond the truth?"
"You killed my sister." The line was spoken flatly.
"Did I? Or are you just so desperate to blame somebody other than yourself that you are viewing the world and the facts with tinted eyes?"
Tinted eyes. Red-tinted eyes.
Blood red.
"Kai told me the truth," Mikagami put in, refusing to quite meet Meguri's eye.
Meguri shook his head, matted black hair swaying slightly with the movement. "Kai told you what you wanted to hear. He didn't tell you the truth. You never wanted to know the truth. You just wanted to stop feeling guilty."
"That's not true." There was a sort of desperation in the words; heart-wrenching at the very least; devastating for any empathetic person.
But Meguri Kyoza hadn't been taught to be empathetic, or sympathetic, either.
"You've grown weak." Each word was spoken with deliberate slowness, ending with a certain amount of disgust.
"By whose standards?" Mikagami challenged.
Meguri sighed. His pupil didn't understand. He had never understood.
It was odd, how different he was from his sister. And a pity, too. Such a pity. Where Mikagami had a frightening amount of potential, Mifuyu had none. And where he didn't care much for the sword, his sister had truly loved it. Too much, perhaps.
The memories were vivid - oh, so vivid - but surreal. Almost like-- it hadn't happened.
She'd been a sweet young girl. Not quite beautiful, perhaps, but pretty. She'd had a kind of innocence belying the events of her life. Most people have a blind spot, however, and hers was the art of kenjutsu.
He still saw her. Every night, in his dreams. It was always the same one. Mikagami training, a single bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. Then him demonstrating with a katana, thrusting-- running her through. And then there was blood, and she smiled, and then he'd wake up, heart thumping.
She'd been a girl after his own heart, and he couldn't help but feel, in retrospect, that, rather than discouraging her obsession with kenjutsu and the ensui - which he had had no intention of doing, anyway - he had encouraged it, and exerted a certain amount of influence over her.
"…Your sister loved the sword…" A smile unconsciously slipped from his usually grim face, and his tone was one of nostalgia.
'Why not?' she'd said. 'It would work, Meguri-san, you know it would.'
Why not, indeed?
He'd told her that she had no idea what she was talking about.
But she was perfectly sober and sane, and she knew it, too.
He vaguely remembered wondering how she'd hatched such an elaborate plan, and why she would be willing to go through with it in the first place. She was seventeen. She was supposed to be thinking about-- about whatever seventeen-year-old girls thought about. But she was sharper, more extreme, more intelligent than most people - her brother not included.
It was only after he was going through her belongings after her death that he had found the two unopened bottles of anti-depressants, and the prescription set for more than half a year before.
Clinical depression, the doctor had said. Severe. Possibly genetic; there was a history of it running in the family. Should watch the brother, too. If there was something that would trigger depression, this was probably it. Then he had asked how the kid had been coping. Apparently, he'd seen the article in the newspapers.
Also - she'd stopped coming to him for their fortnightly appointments for more than half a year ago. He'd called the nurse, flipped through the book - the last appointment that she had come for had been half a year before she had come to Meguri.
Gods.
'It has to be him.' Those had been her exact words. Of course it had to be him, dammit! Who else could it be; the janitor? Mifuyu? The janitor had more potential than she did!
Of course, she'd realised that.
She could recognise potential when she saw it, though that was about all. She'd seen it. She'd been awed by the fact that somebody could have so much talent just waiting to be developed. And she'd vowed - he had been there when she had raised her right hand as she stood before the ensui - she'd vowed that her brother would be the most powerful wielder of the ensui ever, and she would do anything, give up her life, even, to aid him.
And give up her life she did.
He had told her that the idea was ludicrous; ridiculous at best. She'd looked at him, straight into his eyes, and smiled sadly. 'You've thought about it. I know you have, Meguri-san, it's no use trying to pretend that you haven't.'
The worst of it was, she had been right.
He had gaped at her, unnerved for once, and she'd looked away.
'Have you thought about the consequences?' he had asked her, and she'd answered that yes, she had, and that she had confidence in Tokiya. He was strong, she said. He could handle it.
If only she had known.
It was more than just Hyomon Ken. He'd sensed it, and he'd asked her about it. She had looked back at him, her lips slightly curved in a feeble attempt at a smile, and said, simply, 'Sore wa himitsu desu.'
He wished he'd seen the anti-depressants then.
But she'd been set on her idea; offered to pay for all expenses, everything. And so he'd rung up a couple of men, and instructed them on what to do. It was all done on a whim; he'd been itching to get his hands on Tokiya's talent; she'd wanted to live - die? - out her vow. She had smiled her thanks after he hung up. He had just felt sick, and thus it was only after a few hours that Kai was punished for eavesdropping.
There was only a little hitch - he hadn't been able to do it.
After three nights of tossing around in bed, he had called the men again, to cancel everything, to give him some time to go over to the Mikagami residence and knock some sense into Mifuyu.
He hadn't counted on them already starting on their mission.
It was one of the few times in his life he had been completely horrified. The blood had rushed to his head and whirled around in a swirling mass, preventing him from thinking. By the time he'd rushed to the Mikagami residence, he was only in time to put his hand on Tokiya's shoulder and call the police.
Mikagami had never asked why he had happened to be there that night.
And so the boy had trained; dedicated virtually every second of his life to the art of Hyomon Ken. It was a dream come true for Meguri - his student improved rapidly; much, much faster than he himself had. And in seven years' time, he had mastered Hyomon Ken.
And for what? So that he could avenge his sister. It was always about his sister - he adored her. At times he almost hated Mifuyu - how could a girl - a dead girl! - hold the heart and mind of his prized student?
He did everything for her. Everything was about her. Revenge for her. Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. Revenge so that he--
Oh, gods.
He felt sick as realisation seeped in. Damn it, it had never been about his sister. He didn't *want* to avenge her; he *needed* to, literally. He had been right when he'd thought that he had just been buying time. He *needed* it. He *needed* to pin the blame on someone; *needed* to believe that there was still his version of justice in the world; *needed* to be able to look at his hands without seeing the blood.
And the only way he could wash off his sister's blood…
…was with the murderer's blood.
He understood now. Oh, yes. He idly wondered why it had taken him seven years to see that. Maybe because he felt as guilty as Mikagami did; seeing the boy get more and more bent on revenge each day bit at his heart. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. And so he watched mutely as his student stood up and formed the ensui with the water from his water bottle.
How to tell him? Tell him that his sister was responsible for her own death; tell him about the pills, the doctor, the phone call, Kai. To convince him that there was nothing he could do, though he wasn't sure if the words were meant to talk his student round, or Meguri himself.
It ran through his mind as he observed the ensui impassively. He opened his mouth to blurt everything out--
--and found that he couldn't.
Mifuyu had entrusted the child to him. He had taken it upon him to make Mikagami as good a fighter as he could be; and live his life the best that he could.
But there was no way he could do either with the burden of guilt weighing him down, never lightening. To get rid of that guilt, even for a minute… To… to possibly ease his own conscience, as well…
And in a second, he understood what he had to do.
He still owed the boy seven years of his life, since he hadn't been able to get to the Mikagami residence in time. It wasn't as good, but it would do. Calmly, he stood up, facing Tokiya.
It was better this way. Better that he live with tinted eyes. Better that he be wrong but satisfied, than right but with the remnants of his shattered world collapse around him.
"…We're even now," he murmured under his breath as Mikagami started charging at him. The form was sloppy, his grip on the sword not firm enough, and his hand was shaking.
Good enough.
He watched the sword blankly as it sped towards him with surprising speed, the transclucent blade reflecting the last light of the sun in an oddly melancholic picture.
Dimly aware that the sword had pierced his body; ripped through his ribcage, right on target, he closed his eyes.
…I'll see you in a moment, Mifuyu-chan…
And as he closed his eyes, he thought he saw a figure in white grinning at him, and he smiled.
epilogue
No thousand rusty trumpets, all sounding
that mournful evening song
could represent the ending of my happiness.
No battalions with rifles aimed at the invulnerable air
firing uselessly into the raven infested sky
could signal that death.
I wish to wave my hat, my hand,
say my last farewell or write my final epilogue.
Nothing but drafted letters,
cancelled out the next time I see you.
I want to follow the arrow painted by God for my life.
But
my eyes are fixed on the mirror towards you.
And my hands grasp not the laurels in front
but the fleeting past, the vapour trail your presence leaves
And a black mushroom cloud of despairhangs heavy in my head, fogging any future future.
My universe becomes a blackened vision,
an empty infinity.
When the alarm clock screams again, I shall
wipe all fond memories from my mind.
But still cry the tears that damn my mission
of forgetting you.
God-painted arrows
I still cannot follow
The downpour lasted minutes, as most downpours do, but was still enough to layer the ground in an inch or two of water.
The sheets of rain thinned out until the droplets fell in a steady rain - enough to drench after a few minutes in the rain, but light in comparison to the sudden tempest that had passed.
And the clouds cleared even as the rain continued, and the last of the sun that was sinking below the distant horizon desperately cast its last light through the rain, pooling around the silent figure that stepped calmly through the rain.
And bathed the crimson rays, the water around him looked almost-- red.
Blood red.
God-painted arrows
I still cannot follow
-owari-
Poem: 'Summation of My Loss' by Terence Heng.
Published in: Live a Manic Existence [with a cup of sanity in your hand] 1997
Notes: No, I did not make a redundant, repetitive statement when I repeated 'Blood red'. I realise that I used it earlier, and that was my purpose in using it again. What purpose, you ask? Err…. Let me get back to you on that, okay?
I realize that this is extremely… well, extreme. And that the whole point of Mi-chan's story is that somebody else killed his sister. And, let's face it, nobody lacks a life enough to go off and sacrifice themselves. But put special emphasis on the anti-depressants. Mifuyu needed a way out. It's not just Mi-chan affected by their parents' deaths and everything, you know… and I would assume that Mifuyu, after the stress of taking care of her brother at such a young age, was under a lot of stress. Add that to a melodramatic nature and a desperate teenager, and bingo. Dead Mifuyu.
Well, actually my reasoning probably isn't true. I just figured, a twist in the storyline, two in Mi-chan's life… why not another one?
Some of you might have seen the poem before on the flameofrecca list. I mentioned that I might use an excerpt for a story. It was just that I wasn't planning to use it for this story, and I used the entire poem. Ah well. Hope you liked it, anyway.