The flow of water was music on it's own, or so he liked to think it was. It had a course, a rhythm, a small melody every time the water splashed against the rocks and made its way downstream as the cicadas began their summer songs.
If he could, he would want to sleep forever by the river, his head against the grass, saved by the shades of the trees, listening to the animals move around him, looking around at the old and sturdy trees as well as the young and delicate flowers on their leaves.
And most of all, he wanted to sleep while the moon was watching, and rise up at the sight of the sun.
They say the flowers bloom even bigger at the sun's light.
He saw them sprout a hundred years ago from the clear view of a cave.
They say more people come out and play during the day.
Seventy years ago, he heard a tale about cities, but it was too far away and on another island that by the time he had found one, four decades had passed.
They say that they eat a lot of different things. Pork, beef, fish… Tea, water, milk and beer.
They all tasted bland. Some were too watery like fresh flowers whose only difference was the smells. Others are too dry, like the hard snow or the crumbled leaves. The only thing that would actually be tasty was the boiled blood of animals.
The strong smell of rusted iron was enough for the water to start dripping out of his mouth as he chugged one, then another, and by the third one he was told to leave the festival.
A sad aftermath that would leave him with a hungry stomach until his blue eyes spotted a house with creaking doors, more than a few cracked windows, the vines and trees crawling to the roof of bricks, some had fallen a long time ago and most had lost the color.
With just one step, he had managed to break the floor, his feet now with a few splinters, a nail and even more dirt.
"Who's there?!" His blue eyes turned away from the feet and to the sight of a slouched woman full of wrinkles and white hair, carrying a cat on a rope leash as it led her way, both standing on the doorway.
"..."
The elder squinted her eyes, making out the blurry vision of a kid around thirteen years old, blue slit eyes staring at her with a poker face, and the stench of dry blood on his white yukata with a maroon haori.
His mouth opened up to speak, the sight of four white fangs visible in the moonlight.
"Look at you!" She said as the boy's back was rubbed like dirty old clothes, almost leaving some red marks in his body that faded away in seconds. His blue eyes focused on the mist surrounding the walls, the water droplets tainting the black walls in almost the same dark place, the small wind coming in every few minutes from the cracked window. The light that the small box emitted, his hand coming out of the water and being met with cold air, but upon closing in on the box, his fingers felt warmer.
And warmer…
And warmer…
And-
"Tch! Don't touch that!" His hand was slapped away before he could feel the paper box.
"Your hands could get burned, kid." He stopped, his hand back again inside the bathtub, wrapped around his knees as the grandma rinsed his hair in a camellia oil scent.
"Oh dear," She sighed, "It seems that there are only kimonos for you to wear." For she was the only one who lived in this place, alone in the woods.
Not a husband or a father or son.
The boy didn't seem to care, with his usual poker face he put them on, and the clothes fitted him perfectly. Maybe it was the tiny body he had after never eating a lot in his life, or maybe it was that the worn out clothes were too big and loose after being used for so long that even the color had faded away.
"You sure are a strange kid." The woman said as she passed the plates. One of udon and the other a plate of simmered salmon with boiled deer blood instead of soy sauce.
"It's too sugary." He said but was still eating the food on the plate. She too quietly began to eat her bowl of udon.
With this kid, she wouldn't need to waste all of that meat that she couldn't sell in the village.
"Are you sure you don't won't want to come?" The kid nodded his head again as he covered himself inside the futon. The woman had noted just how much he hated the sun every day, not once had he seen him out of it. Had she been maybe a few decades younger she would have dragged him out into it, but now, it was better not to question and enjoy the company instead.
"Alright then, but you better stay at home and clean up alright?"
"Alright."
"And take care of Kazanburo too!"
"Okay."
She slammed the door before he could finish, and the boy went back to sleep.
Dawn came, and he finally got out. Checking off the number of days on his stay in the old bark of his bedroom.
"Five…hundred, Four-ty, and seven." Placing the lead and wood down, his hands pulling his hair in a tight bun before dressing up in a brown, hemp, light, undergarment that would give him less troubles with his chores while also hiding away most of his body from the sun.
At least he could clean the west side of his house as the lights faced away in the east.
The house was cleaned, and the belly of Kanzaburo was full.
"Obaa-san will come home soon. I should practice writing my name now." He set the cat aside, lighting up the small lantern that the grandma never let him do, since she was scared he could burn such poor pale hands that had never touched daylight.
The small fire in his hands wouldn't burn him as much, when the fire was out all he could remember was a small burn that healed away again.
He always wondered just how fragile grandma was, so much that she could be burned but not him. Or maybe that's just how she thought of him. He will just have to ask her later.
"Now…
"To.." For the Kanji of wealth and abundance, quite ironic considering their plebeian class. Grandma was a butcher with an abandoned house and he was just another creature living inside a roof that could break any day. The only reason why he was able to even learn how to write was because grandma's mother used to, and her mother before her too.
"Oka.." Now that one was more similar to their lifestyle, they lived on a hill in the woods, with nothing but wild animals to hunt and sell.
"Tomioka…"
"Gi... Bravery, Courage, Heroism." Those were the words that grandma told him his first kanji would mean.
"Yuu.. Righteousness, Justice, Honor." The second kanji, 4 strokes more than the first.
"Giyuu.."
"Tomioka Giyuu." He turned to face Kanzaburo, the black cat on his futon who was licking it's paw.
"Do you like my name Kanzaburo?" The cat's cyan eyes glanced up at him before meowing in response, as if he had understood the boy.
"Thank you." He smiled. Setting the wooden tile he had gotten from the broken floor, and got to clean up all of the messy charcoal with the dusty black hands.
"Hey Kanzaburo, Obaa-san hasn't come today either." Giyuu stopped as he carried again the bucket of dirty water to throw away. Kanzaburo was not far behind him, and neither was the sun's rays so he hurried up to water the plants. The scent of spring lingering in the air.
Summer had arrived and it was time to celebrate. For what? Giyuu didn't know, grandma used to celebrate this every year.
"Kanzaburo, Do you want to eat rabbit meat or boar meat today?" There was nothing but silence, Giyuu began to look around yelling out his name but no answer.
"Kanzaburo!" He wrapped from head to toe with the futon blankets before heading outside.
"Kanzabuuroo!" He tried to open the doors with his shoulders, and kept walking on the side, tripping before falling off again in the broken stairs. Thankfully today was a cloudy day for the most part so his mind wasn't so worry on the sun but rather on the nadust of his blanket.
"KANZABURO!?"
"KAN-" A small meow was heard from the entrance, Giyuu did his best to look around in the small pocket hole for his eye.
He finally spotted the cat. Sitting in the mud road that wasn'ta road anymore.
"Kanzaburo, I tought you were gone! Don't scare me like that ok!" The cat simply looked out into the clear forest path as the boy went up to hug him.
"Do you miss Obaa-san?"
There was no response, his eyes still staring at the dense forest.
"She will come back." But the first year without her had passed, longer than the time he spent with her.
"Don't worry Kanzaburo." That was more to himself than for the cat.
"Don't worry." A tear had fallen to the ground.
"Ouch!" Giyuu cut himself again while slicing off the meat, the only food he had eaten in days now. If only he could remember how grandma used to cook her food.
"Hm?" He felt a dry tongue on his fingers as he snapped out of reality. Kanzaburo was licking his finger.
"Ah! No Kanzaburo! That could be bad for you!"
Well... he guesses he was right since Kanzaburo became more agresive after that. Often going out to eat his food and even hiss at him for little things. In the nights it only worsened as the cat came back with dead rabbits and mice. He had to lock up and get him to behave again before Obaa-san comes back.
"Three thousand. Six hundred. Fifty days." There was no sign.
There was never a sign, from the woods or the sky or the air or the animal's cries.
"3. 6. 5. 0." His nails had grown so much even though he just cut them last week.
Kanzaburo's gray hairs were gone by now.
There stood a young man of black messy hair tied up in a low ponytail, wearing a dark green kimono with his maroon haori, his height had sprouted around the time he started to play with the sun's rays, well, it wasn't so much play as it was getting Kanzaburo back to his cage again.
And now another night full of stars had appeared.
This time a loud bang rang through his ears. His feet moved from the room's writings to the outside of his room.
His blue irises expanded for the first time as the sky was highlighted in different colors with ear-piercing sounds. As though the star in the sky were exploding
"What are those?"
There would be only one way to find out.