"Run, Kurapika! Run! And don't look back!" the woman shouted, eyes full of concern and fear. She wanted to save her only son. She wanted him to survive the massacre. Childishly, he didn't want to go. So what if he was going to die? At least he would die noble, right beside his family. But fate picked a different role for the young lad; instead he knew he had to stay strong, so ignoring the persistent throbbing in his mind, he dashed off.
The boy ran, his hands clasping tightly his two sheathed 'tantō,' or daggers, a gift from his beloved father. His mind wasn't thinking about his fallen people, all he was set on was that he following the last order of his dear mother. He kept on running. Running until the shouts of his fellowmen nearly faded... running until his legs gave out.
Slumping on a boulder, the child lay there, closing his eyes, slowly trying to catch his breath. The sounds of death crept slowly to his ears, but he ignored this. He ran, and that's it. He did what his mother told him to; a really simple-minded thought for the boy. Tired, he edged comfortably and fell asleep.
When he woke up, silence raced through the fields. The boy nodded, he knew it was over. He dusted himself and stretched a little, tidied up his now mud-colored blonde hair. He clasped his tanto, to make sure they were still there just in case, and then he set off back home, now in a fast run. If he wanted to get home, he had to… fast. To save any other who was left; if there were that remained. Still, the tire easily caught up with him and he was forced to stop once in a while as to not stress his already almost withered-out body.
When he arrived, the sky was already a little scarlet gold; matching perfectly with the eyes of the now fury-driven twelve-year-old boy. All in his thoughts were that his family, friends and neighbors were all dead, he was all alone, and the image of the mangled corpses with no eyes slowly burning into his mind. And they didn't even leave one other survivor, other than himself. The murderers, the Genei Ryodan, cold-heartedly gouged out the eyeballs of each and every one of those in the Kurata clan. The reason behind this is the beauty in them -- when enraged, or suppressed in any great emotion, their pupils turn a bright scarlet; considered one of the seven beauties in the world. And please, we know of the human greed. They'd reach great lengths for anything considered beautiful. Even if this 'great lengths' can be as dreadful as what had happened that day in Rukuso valley.
"Killed," the boy murmured, head low, hands in fists. "All killed for their eyes."
Kurapika awoke from his nightmare; eyes now turned a bloodshot red, head aching. Quickly he put his face in his palms before the tears started to flow.
Kurapika knew that in what manner whatsoever, he would never really be able to dispose of those memories. Because it was his past.
