A Glass Rose

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The Ties Which Bind Us

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Part I: Contemplations

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A glass rose,An object of beautyAdmired for its magnificence,Yet resented for its perfection.

"Mother, I don't feel well," I mouth quietly as I sit down at the kitchen table. I hate having to lie to her, but it is the only way I know that can get me out of having to go through another pointless school day. Another pointless day of living.

"Shuichi." Her voice is gentle, and her tone holds a note of concern. "You've missed four days of school in the last two weeks. That's not at all like you; are you sure you're alright?"

No Mother, I'm not sure I'm all right. I don't know what's come over me recently.

"Yes, Mother," I reassure her. "It must just be the flu. It is autumn, and the weather has been disagreeable as of late," I assure her.

She nods. "Yes, of course. Well, all right then, dear. You just go on up to your room and rest. I'll see you tonight after work."

Now it is my turn to nod.

She smiles and kisses me on the forehead, then stands up rather stiffly and walks out the door, leaving me alone to contemplate…

Why do I avoid school when I'm such an avid scholar?

I know why, but I do not wish to come to grips with it. I do not belong at school, and they know it; all of them do. What is more, still, they do not want me there, and I do not want to be there, either.

Perhaps I will do us all a favor...

Oh, if only Youko could see my weakness now.

Humans truly are such fickle creatures: always admiring the things they want, yet envying those who have them.

I rise slowly, the suddenness with which my melancholy has set in stirring me into restlessness, and walk out the door, to my prized possessions: the wild rose bushes growing along the side of the house, covering the ivory paneling in a marvelous scarlet tint.

They are the self-same rose bushes that had been in ill health when I was a child, barely able to manifest my powers. They had truly come a long way since then; from the black, shriveled buds, with hardly an ounce of life in them, to the rich, ruby red blooms holding themselves up proudly today. It is truly amazing what changes time can impose on objects — be they sentient or not. It still causes me to marvel to this day. Time has not neglected me, either. Fittingly, I grew with them. In body and in soul; for they taught me a valuable lesson: life is fragile, terribly so, and without proper care and guidance, all things shall fall prey to the darkness.

Ironic; the Great Youko learned his life lessons from a shrub. What has he brought himself to?

I smile at the bushes, reveling proudly in the success my time, effort, and patient, gentle nurturing, has sown. Then I see it, and my smile turns into a concerned frown. A small bulb is hanging limply off of its stem on one of the farther reaching bushes, the leaves shadowed by the window ledge above, and shielding it from life-sustaining sunlight. Somehow, despite my gentle nurturing, it has succumbed to ill fate.

I approach it, cupping the fragile bloom tenderly in my hands, feeling the cool velvet of the shriveled, blackened petals against my palms, and close my eyes. Within a moment, the bloom begins to glow in a pale silver light, my aura feeding it, strengthening it.

I have turned myself into a caring, human-loving, half-breed.

Yes, that is correct. The Great Youko had fallen into his own trap by developing a bond with the ningens. I swore never to let it happen, but despite my wishes and best efforts, it had. I sigh.

Why?

I shake my head. I do not know why anymore. I gave up on pondering that a long while ago. It is such a pointless question, after all. It is all too apparent that I do not belong here, although I choose to reside here; here, among the very beings who have made my life on good days a mere annoyance, and on bad days an insufferable hell.

Resentment.

I resent my choice; the choice I made to become human. After what living with the choice ultimately put me through, after all that I have endured — I have had enough. Humans despise me, just as I knew from the start that they would; but I told myself to live with that knowledge. I did. And now, I have had enough.

I want out.

Suddenly, my mother's face appears in recesses of my mind. Her warm eyes, her gentle smile. Her tender, unquestioning, unconditional love…

Shiori.

That — she — is why I have stayed so long.

She is the reason I have stayed here. She is the sole reason why I did not leave at ten years of age, as I had originally intended.

I was Shiori's second child.

Her first pregnancy ended in a stillbirth. The child had not developed properly in the womb, and so, was not strong enough to sustain itself. Shiori had suffered a great deal of pain in her firstborn's death, and the doctor had told her that the chances of her having another hale and healthy child were slim to none.

I suppose I would have — should have — met that very same fate, if not for Youko's spirit merging with my mortal body, residing within my very soul.

To this day, I still wonder if that is what granted me rebirth in the first place. Especially, considering that Shiori had told me often times that she had not expected me to survive either. Not even the doctors had expected me to be born healthy. Imagine their surprise.

I was her miracle.

I cannot take that away from her...

No matter how badly I want out of it, I will not leave. I know I am one of the woman's few sources of hope and happiness in this mortal world. Yes, of course, she has Hatanaka, and Shuuichi. She is quite happily married. But, I am truly her only child. If I left, she would blame herself.

Humans are like that; they succumb to emotions far too easily.

And I should talk, as I have readily become one of them.

I shake my head. Yes. I have become one of them. One of the race whose actions always seem to speak for themselves. Humans easily have the wildest, most irrational behaviors I have come to know. They live only for the present moment, with little to no regard for the consequences.

But, I do not suppose I can blame them. Their existence upon this green earth is terribly short in comparison to that of other beings. In the time I have lived with them and spent among them, I can understand why they act as such:

Just to make the most out of the time they have been given.

Exactly like the rest of us.

Except... Humans are also some of the most vindictive beings I have come to know. They know many more ways to bring about pain and suffering, than they do when it comes to peace and joy.

So it comes as no surprise that they treat me as they do. It is second nature to them. Almost instinctual. It is only in their human natures to fear what they do not understand.

I really have brought this all upon myself haven't I, I muse. I knew from the start what to expect, and I still made the choice to remain here. It surprises me how naïve I have become in these past few years.

Suddenly, I remember the bloom I am tending to. I had gotten so caught up in my cynical musings that I had almost forgotten about it. As I look down at the bulb in my hands, I smile. It has become as healthy as its companions on the bush and those neighboring it; its petals now radiating a vibrant, lively red. It will be just fine now. Feeling accomplished, I release the bud.

The roses are beautiful, one of the few things left in this life that are.

Perhaps humans are not that horrible…

To bring about such beauty as this, they must have good intentions. For such pure beauty as this, there must be some good in their hearts; some form of intended good will.

Maybe there is hope for them after all.

But amongst the ruby red blooms that are the roses, another thing strikes me.

The thorns…

Sharp, dangerous, thorns.

It seems that even what grants beauty, must bring with it pain.

Maybe not.