disclaimer: I don't make claims to
owning any of the characters of Sailor
Moon. All rights go to those
deserving of their creation. Technically
all other characters do belong to me,
but if anyone is interested in using any
of them for whatever reason, all they
need do is ask. Thank you.
King of Kings
Part I
"Let all those who come before me bow low,
For I am the king of kings."
~anonymous
She tore desperately, fingers arching into razor-sharp talons
fit to pry and pull, through what felt like waves of bodies.
Her heart beat up, up into her throat and her head pounded
with a dull senseless aching, ringing in voluptuous plenty
within her mind. With the air of a wild animal at last
trapped in a corner, she clamped both of her tiny sweat-
covered hands over her ears but still...still the taunting
voices conquered, crying clearly above the humbled silence.
"Chikai-chan..." a singing voice was singled out, rising
above the rest and dripping with the sound of what could
only be called malicious mocking, but then falling back again
to be lost in the sea.
She ran, stumbling, nearly falling, praying the long blonde
strands of hair flying about her face could mask the two
warm streams of salty liquid traveling down over her cheeks,
flowing so freely from the heated corners of her eyes.
And then in an instant she'd stumbled too far to catch herself,
and was falling to a rapidly approaching ground. She landed
on the uneven pavement not unlike a doll that has been cast
away in disgust. It too seemed to ridicule her, hot stone
tearing through the tender flesh of her knees like the metallic
glinting blade of a freshly sharpened knife.
Her throat released a low guttural whine with the sudden
onslaught of pain, wishing to be allowed to break into a cry,
but at the same time unable to move past the tangled knot of
fear caught deeply within. She rose, trembling on uncertain
legs, and paused for only a moment to catch her breath before
continuing on to leave the wailing of voices far behind in the
distance.
She ran.
*****
Even after brushing with the supposedly powerful mint
toothpaste, his breath still carried heavy traces of alcohol.
The scent given off of the biting mint entwined with the bitter
drink invaded her nose and festered there as if to rot. She
winced, shut her eyes, and prayed for an end.
Thankfully he took no notice, pressing his chapped lips to her
own broken, bruised, and bleeding ones and scratching her with
unshaven whiskers in the process. His rough, calloused hands
held her body pressed tight against his own, and then jerked
her still more roughly away, with an unreadable grunt.
She remained where she stood, arms hanging limp, and licked
sullenly at her coppery-tasting blood while listening to him
shuffle heavily about the room. She flinched involuntarily
with the fall of every footstep, the heaving of every breath,
but fought the urge to move until she caught the distinct sound
of the front door opening, and closing with a slam. His smell
lingered in the air around her, she noted, even without his
body present.
She felt nauseous.
*****
One of the bulbs in the bathroom sparked with electricity and
fell into blackness when she flipped the switch, casting still
more shadows in the dimly lit room than usual. She made no
move to fix it, however. She preferred it that way.
The face looking back at her in the mirror was hardly one she
recognized. The wide-set green eyes had a dull filmy glaze
distorting their color and the right one had faint traces of
bruised skin surrounding it. She prodded deftly at the
discolored skin of her cheek and winced, biting her lip in
pain, and then winced again, biting her tongue to keep a scream
from hurling out. From experience she knew it would be a deep
shade of blue by the following morning.
Aside from that she saw, with the smallest of sighs passing
her lips, her hair looked far worse today than it had in ages.
The glossy, shimmering blonde tresses had vanished, leaving
in their stead thin strands that threatened to break in two
every time a comb was forced through them. Even the hand
resting on her chin looked foreign, seemingly years ahead of
its age.
Zensha.
Years and years ago, long before he'd moved in, and long
before she'd given birth to Chikai, she'd asked her own mother
her reason for naming her as she had. Her mother had only
smiled, weathered and weak but a smile nonetheless, and said
that her belief was a name is very little more than a word.
Whether a person lives according to its meaning or not is
their own choice, for there is no greater power causing them
to do so. The discussion came to an end before Zensha had been
able to learn what she really wished to know.
'The former,' Zensha meant, theoretically. No more, no less.
In her eyes it had come true, for the face opposite her own
looked as though it had been washed away to be forgotten now
and perhaps remembered as a passing thought one day. But that
day was not today and so the face watching her, contorting
itself under a deep shadow, laughed a silent laugh.
She sighed again, pushing away her thoughts and leaned forward
to remove the slim makeup compacts from the sink cabinet, and
groped downwards for the faucet. The old handle screeched
in rebellion, but at last icy cold water spurted from it,
spilling into the chipped sink below. The cold stung her face
without mercy, but she was relieved the furiously rushing
water drowned out her breaking sobs, dissolving them into
nonexistence.
*****
It was only when she reached the familiar corner of her own
block that Chikai dared to pause, chest heaving with exhaustion,
heart racing. The fact that she was often forced to run home
from school had not, as she had vaguely hoped, helped her to
build herself up physically. The exertion still cast a heavy
toll on her body.
She snatched the strap holding her pile of books together on
the path, biting her lip hard to remind herself not to look
at her knee. It throbbed to remind her of its existence, but
she knew she could handle it up until the moment she had to
see the blood. Then it would be over. She would be besieged
by a pain that was barely there now, and deliver herself as a
sobbing mass to her mother's feet.
That would certainly never do.
So instead she pushed her long blonde hair away from her eyes
with a small hand, hoisted the books more securely in her
arms, and took off on her way.
On the sight of her home, nestled awkwardly between two much
larger houses, the torn skin of her knee immediately flew
to her mind as topmost importance, trampling any previous
thoughts of bravery. The wailing sobs of a child escaped her
lips, precisely at the same moment hot tears again splashed
to her cheeks. She hobbled to the front door, cries
increasing.
Zensha's slender form seemed to materialize from thin air
in the doorway in front of her, face masked behind the
overhanging shadow. Chikai stopped dead in her tracks,
sniffling but not speaking.
She remembered a time when she had arrived home in a similar
state, grabbed hold of her mother's leg, soaking it with
tears in the process, and revealed to her everything.
The jeers, the laughs, the pointed fingers, the loneliness
felt when she knew she had been purposely left out,
purposely forgotten. The words were intermingled with choking
sobs, and muffled through fabric, but Zensha had listened
patiently, though with a perturbed air unnoticeable to the
child.
And when Chikai had peered up at the stately figure from her
little crumpled ball, peered at her through wet, but hopeful,
eyes, the face she saw frightened her. She didn't know quite
how to describe it. Her mother's lips had been tightly
pressed, near white as if in anger, but her eyes were hollowed
green husks, mere shells, seeing only something before
her that horrified her.
Chikai was never quite sure why, nor had she ever asked, but
in that one moment it was clear to her that what she had
said had placed that face over her mother's familiar one.
Her words had struck deep fear into those eyes.
Since then the face had haunted her through her worst bouts
of fright, causing her to resolve herself- even at the
tender age of nine years passed -to doing whatever she
could to ensure it would never again come before her. Even
though it was often no use, and the tears would fall, she
still felt better having tried.
And so she gulped back her tears, standing stiffly before
the doorway and her mother. When the knee throbbed, she bit
her lip harder.
In turn, Zensha studied the girl before her, her daughter.
It both surprised and worried her that the child had stopped
crying in spite of the blood-red liquid trickling in thinly
winding lines down her leg to stain her little white sock.
Her shoulders trembled, but she obviously fought the urge
to continue crying or to even raise her eyes to meet gazes.
It was with a heavy heart that Zensha at last pushed open
the screen door, reached down to retrieve the books at her
daughter's feet, and held the door open for her to enter.
She watched the little blonde head bob past her in its
limping gait, heading down the long hallway.
It was a familiar room for both of them, the bathroom.
Time and again Chikai had arrived home, sometimes crying
and sometimes struggling not to, with blood staining her
arms, her legs, and once even her head. Only on one occasion
had she offered an explanation for their occurrence and
never again.
Once, Zensha recalled, the girl had arrived in the front
yard in near-screams, having dropped her books far behind,
and shown her, amidst wails, an arm covered in blood. Her
cries had continued into the bathroom, teasing Zensha's
mind into a pounding headache. At last she had grown
frustrated with the child, and slapped her swiftly across
the face. Chikai's eyes had widened, throat went silent
save a short-lived croak, and she had shrunk away into a ball.
Though it was not a particularly hard slap, and didn't
leave any marks, that had been the first and only time she'd
ever struck her daughter, the memory imbedding itself deeply
within her mind.
Today they were silent, each lost within their own thoughts.
Chikai felt more tears well up in the face of the fresh pain
she experienced with the application of ice water to her
wounded knee, but managed to fight them back after only a
scattered few found their way down her cheeks.
Zensha made a small disapproving sound in the back of her
throat, more out of built-up frustration over her day than
over Chikai, but the girl steadied herself all the same.
She watched her mother's concentrated face through the
grimy mirror, squinting in the poor light, and thought she
caught sight of a mark on her cheek, the faintest violet
color. But it was lost the next instant into shadow.
Bringing forth a little sound from her throat again,
Zensha rubbed furiously at the blood-stained leg. She
reached blindly into the sink for fresh cold water, still
spurting from the faucet in angry gurgles, and pressed it
against the source of the bleeding. To her the task was a
familiar one, and one that she carried out in a hustled
manner with little attention paid to what she was doing.
When she chanced to glance upwards, it was to see the
child's tears falling once more.
*****
Chikai's gaze traveled wildly over the brilliant black and
white images, pausing occasionally to admire one that was
exceptionally beautiful. Her lips moved with the words,
opening and closing in a nearly imperceptible manner. Then
green eyes opened wide and she leaned in closer to the page,
bobbing her head down and across, and turning the page so
quickly that it nearly tore.
She lay sprawled on the floor of the living room under the
tall corner lamp, hair pooling about her little head in
waves of tangled blonde. Her legs dangled carelessly towards
the ceiling, bandaged knee forgotten in her excitement in
reading her favorite manga.
It was called "Do Yoroi," a decently sized tale contained
in nine books other than the one held in her hands, which
was only the fifth in the series. The heroine, a dazzling
girl by the name of Shino Hakura, began her journey with
a decision to join the king's army and so revenge herself
against those who had brutally slain first her father,
and then her brother and mother. They opposed the king
himself, and all those who dared to remain loyal to him as
Hakura's father had struggled to do so.
And so, Hakura disguised herself as a man and worked
hard for many years to gain the position of a knight.
Unfortunately along the way she fell in love with the
king's son, while his cousin, a lovely woman, fell for
Hakura thinking she was a man. Though the cousin remained
adamant about her affection in her gentle mannerisms and
tender words, Hakura never realized it.
This, Chikai had never understood. In her eyes the young
prince was as nice to look at as a man could be, but
was at the same time brash, and brusque in his manners
with people he associated himself with. However his
cousin was beautiful, graceful, and soft-spoken. Chikai
admired the colored drawings of her, showing a slender
girl with long flowing hair falling nearly to her knees
and of the softest gold, whose large magenta eyes were
peaceful but unsettled at the same time.
She flipped another page.
In this volume Hakura is at last able to join the ranks
of the king's men. She travels alongside the prince,
but from the very moment they set out, he changes before
her eyes, into a spineless coward afraid to fight even
for his own father's name. He takes his faithful Hakura
into his confidence, suggesting to her that they bribe
the men into returning early with claims of brave heroism.
The unexpected transformation pierces Hakura's heart like
ice, changing her, in turn, into a true warrior as well as
reminding her of the reason she decided to join in the
first place. Her heart closes to the thought of love.
"Oh..." Chikai breathed. She shifted on the uncomfortable
wooden floor into a better-suited position, peering
intently at the face of the girl on the page. It was in
color, allowing her to marvel over the contours of Hakura's
face, the flowing lines of her body, the coppery hair
spilling over her shoulders in tangles from the wind. But
it was her eyes that interested Chikai the most. They
watched something unseen in the distance, shimmering in a
silvery gray color as purely cut as if it they had been made
of stone. Chikai shivered in the face of the icy determination,
but in her heart she thrilled over it.
She let her eyes linger a moment longer before flipping
the page.
The girl squeaked, shutting the book with a snap. Hakura
had been in the midst of battle, and wounded because of it.
Even in black and white, the blood stood before her a menacing
reminder of her own reality.
She tossed the book from her, watching it slide to a
satisfactory distance away from her on the floor. Hakura
on the cover stared at her, mouth smiling but eyes cold.
The book, characters, story, and all was lost to her mind
the next instant when her ears caught the faint sound of
heavy footsteps heading up the front walk. Heart racing,
she leapt to her feet, skittered across the floor to
retrieve her manga, and thundered into the hallway leading
to her room. Only when the door was in front of her did
she remember her pounding knee and so limped the rest of
the way into the room.
*****
Zensha bristled sharply with the slamming of the front
door, reaching out to steady a pan hanging on a hook on
the kitchen's wall. She heard him grunt, clear his throat,
and pound down the hallway. From the heaviness of each
step, she could already tell his mood had not improved
since the afternoon. She was glad Chikai had gone to her
room already, though, to be truthful, she also felt envious.
She sighed. Maybe that wasn't quite fair. His "bad moods"
had been coming about on a near daily basis, but it was
largely due to his failing job. He'd been given hints that
there would be some layoffs shortly and that unless he worked
harder, he would find his name on the list. Still, even
while she thought up excuses, her heart refused to accept them.
It knew better.
And then he was there, looming in the doorway, watching her
wrinkled hands scrub dishes with soapy water. She paused,
waited for a moment- made longer by the eyes she knew
were glaring into her face without looking up -and finally
found herself saying, in a voice little above a whisper,
"It's in the refrigerator. Chikai and I ate already, not
knowing when you'd be home."
He seemed to ponder her words for another long quiet moment
before heading to the waiting food. Zensha shut her eyes,
tight.
*****
Chikai could taste remnants of her supper coating her teeth,
but she didn't dare leave the room to brush it away. She used
her tongue to loosen and wash away as much as she could, though
it tasted sour.
Sleep was stubborn in coming, so instead she turned her
attention to the black air above her head. Before her very
eyes the black sheet appeared to mold itself into images of all
kinds, floating and flying above her. It never ceased to amaze
her that something could be made from nothing, that color
could be separated from a deep well of black.
She folded both slender arms behind her skull, smiles forming
on her lips from the pictures she watched. They danced, they
played, they leapt, they soared. They put on a show that she
alone would enjoy and would never have to share with a soul.
Her concentration was broken, minutes later, by voices in the
bedroom next to hers. His, a deep rumble, a sound that seemed
to shake the very foundation on which the house perched, and
her mother's shaky, and always soft whisper. Chikai sat up to
listen more carefully.
"So you think you're already on the list?" her mother was
saying.
"If the same idiot who almost lost our last deal is in charge,
I'm sure of it," he said, like a bear just rudely awakened
after a long sleep. "They're all idiots. Without me that
company is nothing. Nothing! I may just as well quit."
Zensha's voice grew even softer, if possible, "What will we
do...?"
When he didn't reply she continued, "There are groceries to
be bought, bills to be paid off, always something or another
for Chikai. How will we manage without your job?" She
waited another moment, "I suppose I could get a job..."
Chikai jumped and nearly yelped, with the slamming of his
fist against the wall next to her bed. Her mother had
gone just a little too far.
"Stupid woman!" he shouted, as if through clenched teeth.
"Trying to make me look worthless? Like I need you to
provide for me?!" Chikai gulped, diving for the safety
of her warm bed. She stuck her head under the pillow to
muffle the beating sound of fist striking flesh that
she knew would come next.
Somehow she managed to fall asleep in the same position,
with her breathing coming slowly with the deep slumber.
She dreamed of the colored images she had watched fly
overhead and towards the end a voice was calling to her,
completely unalike to those she had been listening to.
However, in the morning she couldn't recall any dreams,
much less a beckoning call.
e-mail: shino_hakura@hotmail.com
owning any of the characters of Sailor
Moon. All rights go to those
deserving of their creation. Technically
all other characters do belong to me,
but if anyone is interested in using any
of them for whatever reason, all they
need do is ask. Thank you.
King of Kings
Part I
"Let all those who come before me bow low,
For I am the king of kings."
~anonymous
She tore desperately, fingers arching into razor-sharp talons
fit to pry and pull, through what felt like waves of bodies.
Her heart beat up, up into her throat and her head pounded
with a dull senseless aching, ringing in voluptuous plenty
within her mind. With the air of a wild animal at last
trapped in a corner, she clamped both of her tiny sweat-
covered hands over her ears but still...still the taunting
voices conquered, crying clearly above the humbled silence.
"Chikai-chan..." a singing voice was singled out, rising
above the rest and dripping with the sound of what could
only be called malicious mocking, but then falling back again
to be lost in the sea.
She ran, stumbling, nearly falling, praying the long blonde
strands of hair flying about her face could mask the two
warm streams of salty liquid traveling down over her cheeks,
flowing so freely from the heated corners of her eyes.
And then in an instant she'd stumbled too far to catch herself,
and was falling to a rapidly approaching ground. She landed
on the uneven pavement not unlike a doll that has been cast
away in disgust. It too seemed to ridicule her, hot stone
tearing through the tender flesh of her knees like the metallic
glinting blade of a freshly sharpened knife.
Her throat released a low guttural whine with the sudden
onslaught of pain, wishing to be allowed to break into a cry,
but at the same time unable to move past the tangled knot of
fear caught deeply within. She rose, trembling on uncertain
legs, and paused for only a moment to catch her breath before
continuing on to leave the wailing of voices far behind in the
distance.
She ran.
*****
Even after brushing with the supposedly powerful mint
toothpaste, his breath still carried heavy traces of alcohol.
The scent given off of the biting mint entwined with the bitter
drink invaded her nose and festered there as if to rot. She
winced, shut her eyes, and prayed for an end.
Thankfully he took no notice, pressing his chapped lips to her
own broken, bruised, and bleeding ones and scratching her with
unshaven whiskers in the process. His rough, calloused hands
held her body pressed tight against his own, and then jerked
her still more roughly away, with an unreadable grunt.
She remained where she stood, arms hanging limp, and licked
sullenly at her coppery-tasting blood while listening to him
shuffle heavily about the room. She flinched involuntarily
with the fall of every footstep, the heaving of every breath,
but fought the urge to move until she caught the distinct sound
of the front door opening, and closing with a slam. His smell
lingered in the air around her, she noted, even without his
body present.
She felt nauseous.
*****
One of the bulbs in the bathroom sparked with electricity and
fell into blackness when she flipped the switch, casting still
more shadows in the dimly lit room than usual. She made no
move to fix it, however. She preferred it that way.
The face looking back at her in the mirror was hardly one she
recognized. The wide-set green eyes had a dull filmy glaze
distorting their color and the right one had faint traces of
bruised skin surrounding it. She prodded deftly at the
discolored skin of her cheek and winced, biting her lip in
pain, and then winced again, biting her tongue to keep a scream
from hurling out. From experience she knew it would be a deep
shade of blue by the following morning.
Aside from that she saw, with the smallest of sighs passing
her lips, her hair looked far worse today than it had in ages.
The glossy, shimmering blonde tresses had vanished, leaving
in their stead thin strands that threatened to break in two
every time a comb was forced through them. Even the hand
resting on her chin looked foreign, seemingly years ahead of
its age.
Zensha.
Years and years ago, long before he'd moved in, and long
before she'd given birth to Chikai, she'd asked her own mother
her reason for naming her as she had. Her mother had only
smiled, weathered and weak but a smile nonetheless, and said
that her belief was a name is very little more than a word.
Whether a person lives according to its meaning or not is
their own choice, for there is no greater power causing them
to do so. The discussion came to an end before Zensha had been
able to learn what she really wished to know.
'The former,' Zensha meant, theoretically. No more, no less.
In her eyes it had come true, for the face opposite her own
looked as though it had been washed away to be forgotten now
and perhaps remembered as a passing thought one day. But that
day was not today and so the face watching her, contorting
itself under a deep shadow, laughed a silent laugh.
She sighed again, pushing away her thoughts and leaned forward
to remove the slim makeup compacts from the sink cabinet, and
groped downwards for the faucet. The old handle screeched
in rebellion, but at last icy cold water spurted from it,
spilling into the chipped sink below. The cold stung her face
without mercy, but she was relieved the furiously rushing
water drowned out her breaking sobs, dissolving them into
nonexistence.
*****
It was only when she reached the familiar corner of her own
block that Chikai dared to pause, chest heaving with exhaustion,
heart racing. The fact that she was often forced to run home
from school had not, as she had vaguely hoped, helped her to
build herself up physically. The exertion still cast a heavy
toll on her body.
She snatched the strap holding her pile of books together on
the path, biting her lip hard to remind herself not to look
at her knee. It throbbed to remind her of its existence, but
she knew she could handle it up until the moment she had to
see the blood. Then it would be over. She would be besieged
by a pain that was barely there now, and deliver herself as a
sobbing mass to her mother's feet.
That would certainly never do.
So instead she pushed her long blonde hair away from her eyes
with a small hand, hoisted the books more securely in her
arms, and took off on her way.
On the sight of her home, nestled awkwardly between two much
larger houses, the torn skin of her knee immediately flew
to her mind as topmost importance, trampling any previous
thoughts of bravery. The wailing sobs of a child escaped her
lips, precisely at the same moment hot tears again splashed
to her cheeks. She hobbled to the front door, cries
increasing.
Zensha's slender form seemed to materialize from thin air
in the doorway in front of her, face masked behind the
overhanging shadow. Chikai stopped dead in her tracks,
sniffling but not speaking.
She remembered a time when she had arrived home in a similar
state, grabbed hold of her mother's leg, soaking it with
tears in the process, and revealed to her everything.
The jeers, the laughs, the pointed fingers, the loneliness
felt when she knew she had been purposely left out,
purposely forgotten. The words were intermingled with choking
sobs, and muffled through fabric, but Zensha had listened
patiently, though with a perturbed air unnoticeable to the
child.
And when Chikai had peered up at the stately figure from her
little crumpled ball, peered at her through wet, but hopeful,
eyes, the face she saw frightened her. She didn't know quite
how to describe it. Her mother's lips had been tightly
pressed, near white as if in anger, but her eyes were hollowed
green husks, mere shells, seeing only something before
her that horrified her.
Chikai was never quite sure why, nor had she ever asked, but
in that one moment it was clear to her that what she had
said had placed that face over her mother's familiar one.
Her words had struck deep fear into those eyes.
Since then the face had haunted her through her worst bouts
of fright, causing her to resolve herself- even at the
tender age of nine years passed -to doing whatever she
could to ensure it would never again come before her. Even
though it was often no use, and the tears would fall, she
still felt better having tried.
And so she gulped back her tears, standing stiffly before
the doorway and her mother. When the knee throbbed, she bit
her lip harder.
In turn, Zensha studied the girl before her, her daughter.
It both surprised and worried her that the child had stopped
crying in spite of the blood-red liquid trickling in thinly
winding lines down her leg to stain her little white sock.
Her shoulders trembled, but she obviously fought the urge
to continue crying or to even raise her eyes to meet gazes.
It was with a heavy heart that Zensha at last pushed open
the screen door, reached down to retrieve the books at her
daughter's feet, and held the door open for her to enter.
She watched the little blonde head bob past her in its
limping gait, heading down the long hallway.
It was a familiar room for both of them, the bathroom.
Time and again Chikai had arrived home, sometimes crying
and sometimes struggling not to, with blood staining her
arms, her legs, and once even her head. Only on one occasion
had she offered an explanation for their occurrence and
never again.
Once, Zensha recalled, the girl had arrived in the front
yard in near-screams, having dropped her books far behind,
and shown her, amidst wails, an arm covered in blood. Her
cries had continued into the bathroom, teasing Zensha's
mind into a pounding headache. At last she had grown
frustrated with the child, and slapped her swiftly across
the face. Chikai's eyes had widened, throat went silent
save a short-lived croak, and she had shrunk away into a ball.
Though it was not a particularly hard slap, and didn't
leave any marks, that had been the first and only time she'd
ever struck her daughter, the memory imbedding itself deeply
within her mind.
Today they were silent, each lost within their own thoughts.
Chikai felt more tears well up in the face of the fresh pain
she experienced with the application of ice water to her
wounded knee, but managed to fight them back after only a
scattered few found their way down her cheeks.
Zensha made a small disapproving sound in the back of her
throat, more out of built-up frustration over her day than
over Chikai, but the girl steadied herself all the same.
She watched her mother's concentrated face through the
grimy mirror, squinting in the poor light, and thought she
caught sight of a mark on her cheek, the faintest violet
color. But it was lost the next instant into shadow.
Bringing forth a little sound from her throat again,
Zensha rubbed furiously at the blood-stained leg. She
reached blindly into the sink for fresh cold water, still
spurting from the faucet in angry gurgles, and pressed it
against the source of the bleeding. To her the task was a
familiar one, and one that she carried out in a hustled
manner with little attention paid to what she was doing.
When she chanced to glance upwards, it was to see the
child's tears falling once more.
*****
Chikai's gaze traveled wildly over the brilliant black and
white images, pausing occasionally to admire one that was
exceptionally beautiful. Her lips moved with the words,
opening and closing in a nearly imperceptible manner. Then
green eyes opened wide and she leaned in closer to the page,
bobbing her head down and across, and turning the page so
quickly that it nearly tore.
She lay sprawled on the floor of the living room under the
tall corner lamp, hair pooling about her little head in
waves of tangled blonde. Her legs dangled carelessly towards
the ceiling, bandaged knee forgotten in her excitement in
reading her favorite manga.
It was called "Do Yoroi," a decently sized tale contained
in nine books other than the one held in her hands, which
was only the fifth in the series. The heroine, a dazzling
girl by the name of Shino Hakura, began her journey with
a decision to join the king's army and so revenge herself
against those who had brutally slain first her father,
and then her brother and mother. They opposed the king
himself, and all those who dared to remain loyal to him as
Hakura's father had struggled to do so.
And so, Hakura disguised herself as a man and worked
hard for many years to gain the position of a knight.
Unfortunately along the way she fell in love with the
king's son, while his cousin, a lovely woman, fell for
Hakura thinking she was a man. Though the cousin remained
adamant about her affection in her gentle mannerisms and
tender words, Hakura never realized it.
This, Chikai had never understood. In her eyes the young
prince was as nice to look at as a man could be, but
was at the same time brash, and brusque in his manners
with people he associated himself with. However his
cousin was beautiful, graceful, and soft-spoken. Chikai
admired the colored drawings of her, showing a slender
girl with long flowing hair falling nearly to her knees
and of the softest gold, whose large magenta eyes were
peaceful but unsettled at the same time.
She flipped another page.
In this volume Hakura is at last able to join the ranks
of the king's men. She travels alongside the prince,
but from the very moment they set out, he changes before
her eyes, into a spineless coward afraid to fight even
for his own father's name. He takes his faithful Hakura
into his confidence, suggesting to her that they bribe
the men into returning early with claims of brave heroism.
The unexpected transformation pierces Hakura's heart like
ice, changing her, in turn, into a true warrior as well as
reminding her of the reason she decided to join in the
first place. Her heart closes to the thought of love.
"Oh..." Chikai breathed. She shifted on the uncomfortable
wooden floor into a better-suited position, peering
intently at the face of the girl on the page. It was in
color, allowing her to marvel over the contours of Hakura's
face, the flowing lines of her body, the coppery hair
spilling over her shoulders in tangles from the wind. But
it was her eyes that interested Chikai the most. They
watched something unseen in the distance, shimmering in a
silvery gray color as purely cut as if it they had been made
of stone. Chikai shivered in the face of the icy determination,
but in her heart she thrilled over it.
She let her eyes linger a moment longer before flipping
the page.
The girl squeaked, shutting the book with a snap. Hakura
had been in the midst of battle, and wounded because of it.
Even in black and white, the blood stood before her a menacing
reminder of her own reality.
She tossed the book from her, watching it slide to a
satisfactory distance away from her on the floor. Hakura
on the cover stared at her, mouth smiling but eyes cold.
The book, characters, story, and all was lost to her mind
the next instant when her ears caught the faint sound of
heavy footsteps heading up the front walk. Heart racing,
she leapt to her feet, skittered across the floor to
retrieve her manga, and thundered into the hallway leading
to her room. Only when the door was in front of her did
she remember her pounding knee and so limped the rest of
the way into the room.
*****
Zensha bristled sharply with the slamming of the front
door, reaching out to steady a pan hanging on a hook on
the kitchen's wall. She heard him grunt, clear his throat,
and pound down the hallway. From the heaviness of each
step, she could already tell his mood had not improved
since the afternoon. She was glad Chikai had gone to her
room already, though, to be truthful, she also felt envious.
She sighed. Maybe that wasn't quite fair. His "bad moods"
had been coming about on a near daily basis, but it was
largely due to his failing job. He'd been given hints that
there would be some layoffs shortly and that unless he worked
harder, he would find his name on the list. Still, even
while she thought up excuses, her heart refused to accept them.
It knew better.
And then he was there, looming in the doorway, watching her
wrinkled hands scrub dishes with soapy water. She paused,
waited for a moment- made longer by the eyes she knew
were glaring into her face without looking up -and finally
found herself saying, in a voice little above a whisper,
"It's in the refrigerator. Chikai and I ate already, not
knowing when you'd be home."
He seemed to ponder her words for another long quiet moment
before heading to the waiting food. Zensha shut her eyes,
tight.
*****
Chikai could taste remnants of her supper coating her teeth,
but she didn't dare leave the room to brush it away. She used
her tongue to loosen and wash away as much as she could, though
it tasted sour.
Sleep was stubborn in coming, so instead she turned her
attention to the black air above her head. Before her very
eyes the black sheet appeared to mold itself into images of all
kinds, floating and flying above her. It never ceased to amaze
her that something could be made from nothing, that color
could be separated from a deep well of black.
She folded both slender arms behind her skull, smiles forming
on her lips from the pictures she watched. They danced, they
played, they leapt, they soared. They put on a show that she
alone would enjoy and would never have to share with a soul.
Her concentration was broken, minutes later, by voices in the
bedroom next to hers. His, a deep rumble, a sound that seemed
to shake the very foundation on which the house perched, and
her mother's shaky, and always soft whisper. Chikai sat up to
listen more carefully.
"So you think you're already on the list?" her mother was
saying.
"If the same idiot who almost lost our last deal is in charge,
I'm sure of it," he said, like a bear just rudely awakened
after a long sleep. "They're all idiots. Without me that
company is nothing. Nothing! I may just as well quit."
Zensha's voice grew even softer, if possible, "What will we
do...?"
When he didn't reply she continued, "There are groceries to
be bought, bills to be paid off, always something or another
for Chikai. How will we manage without your job?" She
waited another moment, "I suppose I could get a job..."
Chikai jumped and nearly yelped, with the slamming of his
fist against the wall next to her bed. Her mother had
gone just a little too far.
"Stupid woman!" he shouted, as if through clenched teeth.
"Trying to make me look worthless? Like I need you to
provide for me?!" Chikai gulped, diving for the safety
of her warm bed. She stuck her head under the pillow to
muffle the beating sound of fist striking flesh that
she knew would come next.
Somehow she managed to fall asleep in the same position,
with her breathing coming slowly with the deep slumber.
She dreamed of the colored images she had watched fly
overhead and towards the end a voice was calling to her,
completely unalike to those she had been listening to.
However, in the morning she couldn't recall any dreams,
much less a beckoning call.
e-mail: shino_hakura@hotmail.com