Killer
Kyoko remembered well the days of the Bakumatsu, where killers roamed the streets and those streets were fiercely guarded. Every night, for years it seemed, she would hear the yell of attack turn into the cries of men who were dying. Those too, were silenced shortly.
More often than not sure would awake in morning to find the door splattered with the blood of the dead men, through the bodies were usually taken by the time she woke.
It was a tiring task, a disgusting one that she did not relish, cleaning off the blood before making breakfast. Sometimes her next door neighbour, a woman with a husband who could not speak, would share glances as they removed the blood before it could be soaked into the very grains. They hated the task, they despised, despaired that they were removing the blood of their so called protectors or the blood of the people disturbing their peace and rest.
Her husband was gone long hours, many times he would not return for fear for being caught on the streets, when the Wolves prowled. Kyoko understood that, but she hated being alone, alone with a young toddler and a babe at her breast. She couldn't protect them by herself.
They needed the money. Kyoko and her husband were of a poor artisan class, her parents had been killed by a samurai when she had been seven and her mother's family had reluctantly accepted her. Her aunt now, wanted nothing of her, now she was married. Her husband's parents had died of disease and he had been raised by a family already over burdened by children. Food and clothing were in short supply. They knew they could expect little from both.
She wondered sometimes, if it was right to bring up children in this world. Kyoko had considered going to her aunt and taking the bitter tea that would wash her worries away, as with her baby. No, she would be poor, but she needed her children.
When she was alone at night, the quiet whimpers of her newest babe could calm her, even knowing that this baby knew that it would be unwise to be noisy and attract unwanted attention. It pained her, that she could never know if they would wake up dead in the morning.
That had happened to an elderly couple, their young grandchild Tomo and a cur from the streets just a cross the narrow alley, two doors down. Everyone, now feared for their lives, and muffled and slapped their children when they yelled. It would do no good, if they cried now, only to die.
The Bakumatsu was over.
Kyoko had laughed when she realized that she hadn't washed the blood off her walls and door for a year. A year, without kneeling in the dirty ground and staining her fingers pink, a year!
She was relieved that she could finally kiss her children and try to soothe them instead of placing a hand over their mouth and pinch their soft skin to keep them silent.
It was night time and she cried when her husband was home, having braved the streets of Kyoto and returned safe.
A smile graced her lips when she realized she was with child again and never thought of visiting her aunt, she now didn't need to. She could be happy, for the days of blood were over.
Dreaming... dreaming, her eyes closed and her husband warm and possessive. Her children sleeping, snoring, snuggling, all young.
Only her eldest remembers their mother crying, tears streaming down a sad face. As she tried to get the blood that wasn't hers, blood that she hadn't shed, but nonetheless off her hands. It's a distant memory and mother is always smiling now, she has to be happy.
A scream. In the middle of the night. At the sound of a blade meeting flesh and the distant splatter of blood.
Eyes open, Kyoko stares into the night woken by a sound, a feeling that happened so long ago, so many times. She could never forget.
Her family is asleep. She stares at her husband and kisses him once on his temple. Standing up, clad in a thin sleeping kimono, she walks to the door.
There is at least one person out there, she can hear them breathing, she can hear them wipe blood of their katana, she hears the blood hit her walls.
Screaming she wrenches the door open. Breathing harshly she is confronted by a boy, half bowed, still cleaning his katana.
He raises his head and smiles. He can't be, she thinks, much older than her eldest. He's a child.
Blood, on her walls and door, she eyes are drawn to the all too familiar pattern. It's beautiful as well as deadly painful, tears well up in her eyes.
Two bodies lay not far from where she stands, one is beheaded and the other has a great gaping hole where his heart should have been.
The boy smiles and vanishes. The only way she knows he is still near is the katana piecing her eye and as she falls to the ground, no longer even trying to breath, her one remaining useful eye catches a glance of the blood of the walls...
At least, she thinks, I won't ever have to clean the blood away again. She dies, her mouth wide open, open in another scream that she never heard.
Kyoko doesn't hear her husband shout with rage as he sees her fallen form on the ground, bloody and broken as a mere boy smile impishly and draws his katana out of his wife's head. It comes out with the dreadful sound of the breaking of bones, and the release of blood.
The blade is withdraw, still wet and warm with her life blood, and is plunged into the gut of her bellowing husband, then his throat is cut open and the screaming ends.
The children remain silent as they become orphans.
In the morning, the neighbours can not meet the children's eyes, as they wander aimlessly about. The police come, frantic messages are sent to Tokyo but the wide eyed blankness never leaves the children's eyes.
That previous night, when Kyoko and her husband were killed by a boy, they all stayed in their beds even when woken by a woman's heartbreaking screams and her husband's yells of anger and grief.
They never knew that it was a boy. For all they it could have been the person in the house, they never peeked out of their windows, they never slid their door open to see if they could help.
Their minds were too stooped with memories of the Bakumatsu. They remembered how Kyoko had washed the blood away from her house, they had all washed away blood from their own dwellings.
It brought back so many memories of a time few remembered with happiness. It brought back memories of the dead, the grandparents and Tomo, the dead mongrel.
Those memories were forever tied now with present, as the past began to repeat itself in the future.
For three days, not a word was said about the still blood stained walls. No one now resided there, the children had been taken away to live with relatives.
Many residents simply refused to acknowledge the walls that had once housed a happy household, and a neighbour. It was easier to forget.
Until, near two weeks had passed, the walls began to be washed away. The widow of a husband who could not speak, cleaned the walls and the door. The blood had all been red, so she could not be knowing if she was washing away the blood of Kyoko and her husband, or the blood of the two strangers.
She would never know, their faces had been slashed after their deaths so none but one who had woken up against that face every day could possibly remember and recognize, even then it was a long shot.
It was blood, and she was thankful it was not hers.
The two were easily killed, through one of them screamed, they were poor at their defense and thus Soujirou had moved away from their clumsy blows and delivered their death.
Soujirou had sensed her ki, as well the ki of her family and her neighbours, but it still had mildly startled him when she had appeared above him, her eyes wide and horrified.
Her face had briefly clouded over as her eyes were drawn to her face. People often expected the Tenken to be older, it suited Soujirou that they would never guess. That was why he was good at doing what he did, killing for a living, because he could blend in. People gazed at his face and never suspected that someone as young as Soujirou could be a killer, a very proficient one too.
Shishio, with his body wrapped with bandages and his tall frame, had a difficult job fitting in. However, Shishio preferred being a stand out while Soujirou felt inclined to stick with shadows.
Then her eyes had flickered to where the blood had splattered her house. A deep regret and mourning had flashed in her eyes and for a second Soujirou had wondered what she was thinking about.
She was to die, of course. It was too soon for someone to see his face and see him kill, especially in Kyoto. There were too many who would fear for themselves and point a finger at him, shrieking that he was man of Shishio's. Still there were people who thought Shishio stupid, a tool. They were utterly mistaken.
The katana had went through her eye smoothly, he had felt her body crumple, even as an echo of her scream stung his ears and reverberated. Her body still grasped his katana when a man appeared, yelling.
Judging by his similar state of undress, how his eyes were frightened but angry and his frantic hand gestures this man would be her husband. Soujirou had killed the wife, it was time to kill the husband.
With a quick gesture Soujirou had stabbed him in gut, the blade easily sliding past the skin, finding no barriers, like bone, then slit his throat to end his dying cries. A job well done.
He looks over at the rest of the crowded community. Every house in silent, even the one where he had committed murder, not a light graces a window.
Soujirou smiles, this was strength, the power to fear and immobilise.
Still smiling, he flicked his blade at the wall and turned away, walking quickly. Soujirou never saw the blood drip down the wood leaving long trails that stained and marked walls, before pooling around four bodies.
He was quite a distance away from the four murders, when Soujirou heard the cry of a child, a young child was screaming.
This time no one dared to stop the child, even though a killer still treaded past their homes. How times change. So the child continued to wail into the night, distubing the neighbours that had not raised a hand to help their Kyoko and her husband. Soujirou, the killer, wandered free...
AN: Yet another strange chapter. This was inspired by the memory of OVA Trust and Betrayal, how the blood would have to be cleaned away, but by who? Hmm, I was wondering how long do you think these ficlets should go on for?