Disclaimer: I
don't own anything. Nope.
Notes: Written in about 60 minutes,
give or take a couple. Kenshin stands in the rain, and thinks about
things that have gone… and why these things are never coming back
again. For tm challenge, smooth talk.
Drowning Solitude
The rain descended in an ending torrent, pummeling the ground with its merciless rhythm. Torrential waters, rushing, pouring out form heaven, roaring unchecked in the silent night.
Tears from heaven. That's what people said the rain was. But he knew better. The rain wasn't tears from heaven, it was the unshed tears one withheld and hid. Tears that were too bitter and painful to keep concealed inside.
The rain would pour, just like the unrestrained deluge that welled up inside of him. It was not befitting to cry, to let the smiling mask fall from his face to reveal the tempest within. Nothing would be gained, and everything would be lost.
He didn't need kind glances, sweet enquiries or concerned questions. All he needed was solitude.
Solitude. The word held so many connotations, so many meanings, so many different memories. He knew of its loneliness, sorrow and pain. Yet he indulged in it, exchanging sorrow for time for reflections.
It was only in the company of no living soul that he saw the truth. People said that a mirror never lied. How about a pool of still water then? He watched the wavering image of himself fragment as water crashed down.
Solitude gave time for him to think and feel. Feel as a person, not the through the smiling façade that he kept up. Though that happy, beautiful front, all the emotions that he had were muted and dimmed, possessing none of the intensity that they should have had. He knew it was because when he lied to his emotions, his emotions lied back.
He longed for the fiery passions to return. No, that was a lie. He didn't long for them, he hated them, yet they kept returning, burning with a strength that seemed to increase ten-fold every time. It was though their periods seemed to strengthen them, give them strength and give them a new, unrelenting energy when they returned. Absence stoked the flame into a raging passion.
He hated them just as much as he hated his past, as much as he hated his present. Past, present future. Those were all that he was certain he owned. Vestiges of the past, etched into his mind as clear as crystal, and events of the present, blurring past his eyes in running colours. The future, marred by uncertainty and that passion.
Sake could drown the wealth of emotions that he was bestowed with into a hazy, glassy world, where he knew nothing nor cared. Yet it brought him a certain clarity of thought that eluded him in the dojo. When he was drunk, the melding colours of the present seemed to suddenly jump into focus, clear beautiful images painted on a canvas.
It was then that he saw what he did not want, yet longed desperately to see.
"Himura," Soft syllables cutting through his thoughts, tinted with the acrid smell of cigarette smoke.
He shifted, tensing as his hand went instinctively to his blade in battle stance.
"Here already? It's rather early, you know, and the girl will be worried," the smooth voice continued, oddly taunting, rising above the insistent patter of the rain.
He glared at the man, meeting the Saitou's smirk with one of his own. The smile was dead, meaningless. It held no mirth.
He let the sword slip back into its sheath, hearing metal sliding off metal with that sound he was long accustomed to hearing. If the man was here for battle, then let that be so. He undid the strip of cloth that held his hair, drawing up the amber strands into a high style that matched the one he wore in the past.
"Why do that Himura? Why do something so reminiscent of the past? You know the past has left us, and vanished with the time that has gone,"
He spoke then, answering for the first time. "Because the past remains,"
Because the past lingers. Because the past is not something that you can discard with a new life or era. It follows, like the shadow that lurks in the light.
"Stop running from it, Himura. Because you can't. We'll never change. I won't leave you, and neither will you leave me. You can't live in denial,"
He acquiesced. He knew that. But he denied living in denial. The irony.
Saitou stopped his incessant puffing, flinging the glowing stub onto the ground. He brought his heel down, crushing the flame into the water. Saitou stared at Himura through the thinning smoke, observing in scintillating detail every feature.
Himura was the very epitome of beauty. Beautiful features, etched in living flesh, brought alive by the blood pumping through the veins. A stunning man that walked, dazzled and killed.
An assassin. What more could he ask for?
Saitou lunged forward, seizing Himura in a harsh embrace, pinning both of them against the wall with his weight. He seized the hand that was already moving towards the blade instinctively, clamping down hard on the smooth skin.
He arched forward, crushing both their mouths together in a kiss. He knew that it hurt, knew that it would bring upon a pain that would last. But he did it, knowing that what remained of pleasure for them both was this exquisite, beautiful pain.
It was then that Himura let the tension drain away from his muscles, and watch the indistinct colours shift back, defining themselves as clear, vivid images. What he wanted to see, what he longed to see, and what he could now see.
Pain was banished to some remote far corner and buried there, if only temporarily, to allow his senses to drown themselves in the surfeit of pleasure rushing through his veins.
" Where have you been?" He whispered through parched lips, enunciating each syllable with a blurred clarity.
The voice hesitated then answered, "Away, and that is where I leave for now,"
He looked up startled, unable to register the sudden turn in events.
"Goodbye Himura," Saitou said, pausing before pulling away.
"Goodbye," The voice came again, taunting, mocking.
With that Saitou left, his silhouette vanishing amongst the shadows that flitted in the rain, dancing in the wan light.
It was then that Himura knew why he came again to the rain, why he longed for solitude, and why the bitter taste of sake was deceptively sweet when it touched his lips.
He knew, there and then, that he was condemned to live in the fading fragments of the past, living in memories, living in an era and life long gone. He knew passion, love and loss.
"Where are you going?" He asked, bitter and worn, peering dumbly through the misty curtain of rain that hung down, sealing him in the haunting world of reminiscences.
He carried on, living the present as though in a dream.
The End
26/02/2004