Standard disclaimers:
I'm not Watsuki and don't own Ruroken though I wish I did.
All rights belong to Shueisha, Sony and only the hell knows whom else.
As always similarities to the real, historic Saito Hajime are pure coincidence
and most likely non-existing =^^=.
WARNING: I'm not a native speaker, mayor grammar and vocabulary mistakes might
be ahead, hopefully you will not be distracted by them.
Not to confuse you: The story is about Saitou Hajime/Tokio.
The POV changes several times, I hope it works and is understandable,
please tell me if not.
Of course the ending is different :-), I can write a bit more here than
in the other version.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UNREQUITED LOVE 2.VERSION
She was kneeling in the middle of a closed room, her long black hair falling
open down her back, reaching the sole of her feet. The first white hairs
that could be seen indicated that she was not in her youngest years anymore.
Feeling the sensation of a cold winters night on her skin she shivered.
Thoughtfully she looked down at her hands, a dagger was lying in them, her
fingertips were already a bit blue from the cold air, barely discernible for
the sun was already setting down and the last ray of light faded from the room.
She raised her head and the look of her deep-brown eyes got lost somewhere in
the distance, lost in some memories, not recognisable for an outside observer.
The cold steel of the blade in her left hand, the cold hilt of the dagger in
her right hand were her only connection to reality while thinking about the
last weeks.
Why was she sitting here? What happened?
For some weeks a dear friend of her had been seriously ill, nobody had
considered it worth mentioning when she was around. She had wondered why she
had not seen him on the streets for a longer time and finally she had decided
to ask a mutual friend. She informed her of Yoichi's disease. Nobody had
thought of telling her about his illness, nobody considered it important for
her to know earlier. When she was told at last she tried to visit him, but she
had been too occupied with her duties and obligations for the last days. When
she was finally standing in front of his house, she was told that he already
was dead. Died on a disease, no doctor was able to help him, she was too late.
There was so much she would have wanted to have told him, but she never had
the courage. She knew him for thirty years, but she never found the courage.
It had been so much easier to deny her feelings.
She said nothing when her father ordered her to marry Saitou Hajime, she
didn't offend him, she had accepted it, knowing there was no real chance for a
life together with Yoichi. She remained silent, she denied her love for him.
After all she knew that there was always a chance to meet him on the streets,
to cast a glance at him or to speak with him. Living for these short moments,
living for an unfulfilled dream. The dream has died together with him, was
there still something worth living for?
She did everything for her husband, tried to be a loving, caring,
understanding wife, but was that enough? Giving it a try? Smiling warm and
loving while thinking of another man? Lying beside him, feeling his body
close, pretending to enjoy him while thinking of Yoichi.
Did he care about her emotions, did he notice that she was pretending?
Would this chance anything?
Giving birth to three children, educating them, noticing her husband's pride
while watching them. Inwardly hoping it would be Yoichi's sons and Yoichi's
pride.
Their sons were grown up now, all three working successful in respectable jobs,
two of them already married having children. They wouldn't need her anymore.
The one love she had lived for was gone, Yoichi was dead.
She should have done this earlier when she had realised what she had missed in
her life. To tell Yoichi that she loved him, the last chance to put things
right. The last chance was gone with his death. Had it been a mistake to agree
to the marriage, to spent her live with Hajime?
There is no chance to live one's life again. You only have one try, no
room, no space for committing an error.
Gropingly with her left hand she searched for the pulse in her throat and
raised the dagger with her right hand to the spot. Hesitating a last time,
she heard Hajimes footsteps on the wooden floor, he was looking for her. Was
there something worth living for? Remembering Yoichi's always friendly, kindly
face. Not any longer. She concentrated and stabbed the dagger into her carotid
artery.
***
It had been a terrible day for him. He was sure, he was only surrounded by
incompetent idiots. If you want to get a job done correct and conscientious you
can only rely on yourself. This slovenly, shallow police-man who investigated
the murder of the politician this day missed an important body of evidence at
the scene of the crime, asked the wrong persons the wrong questions, sent the
eye witness home. On top of that he lost the name and the address of the
witness to the crime on his way to the police station. The report he had been
given was worth a piece of shit. If this was the human material the new
government relied on this era wouldn't last very long, he smirked
sarcastically.
He shivered and pulled his cape closer around him, this winters night
promised to become an extraordinary cold one.
But there was his house, his wife would already be waiting for him, they would
spent a relaxing, peaceful evening together, his duties wouldn't bother him
the rest of the evening anymore. He could get rid of the memories of the
annoying underlinings he had to deal with. Sliding the front door aside he
stepped into the house.
"Tokio? I'm home."
He took of his boots and sat his foot on the wooden floor, even the wood felt
cold through his socks. Slightly irritated he narrowed his eyes, where was his
wife? Usually she greeted him, he needed her warm, loving smile right now.
He opened the door to the first room, took a short glance inside, she was not
there, maybe in the next one? Opening the next door, but also no Tokio inside.
His feeling of irritation got stronger, by now she should have noticed his
presence, why was she not coming to greet him? A strange and annoying day.
He opened the door to the last room downstairs she could be in and saw his
wife kneeling in the middle of the room, her back facing him, a dagger in her
hand, raised to her throat. What the hell was she doing there?
The first drop of blood appeared on the shimmering blade and dropped to the
floor. His eyes widened. She stabbed it in her throat? She was committing
suicide?
"Tokio!"
He ran toward her, catching her body before it hit the floor and knelt down,
unable to form a clear thought. What was going on here? What did he miss?
What had threatened her, disturbed her so much that she ended her life?
From what he had not been able to protect her? Her beautiful dark-brown eyes
were closed, he wasn't able to spot her emotions without seeing into her eyes.
"Tokio."
Her eyes remained closed as he spoke to her gently, she couldn't been dead
already, it happened only some seconds ago. He arranged her in his arms,
supporting her upper body with one arm and his thighs, searching for the wound
with his other hand. Maybe there was still a chance to keep her alive.
"Tokio, wake up!"
He found the wound, tried to close it with his fingers, but still there was
blood coming out of it and he examined the spot closer.
Pointless trying to stop her bleeding, she had hit the vital point, she had
already lost to much blood. Her blood ran down her neck, soaking his sleeve,
his trouser, the tatami he was kneeling on. Her weakening heart-beat, her
pulse continued to ticker her blood out of her body. Futile. She would die.
He laid a hand on her cheek and she opened her deep-brown eyes to look at him.
What had happened? She had always seemed to be satisfied to him.
He did only have this one chance, there was no second try.
"Tokio," Gently he spoke to her, caressed her cheek "Why did you do this?"
"It is too late, Hajime." She closed her eyes again. Eyes, he only knew with
shining happiness and love in them, but now, short before her death he saw
peace and satisfaction as if she had found an answer for an question she had
been looking for a long time. 'too late?' For what? They had lived for twenty
years together, there had been plenty of time, for what it could be too late
then? Why didn't she want to stay alive? What was gone wrong?
He hold her body close to him, feeling the slackening of her muscles, she was
dead. He had never told her what he felt for her.
"Tokio, I love you."
He felt no reaction, he pulled her dead, limp body closer to him, it felt
colder in his embrace with every second. He leaned his forehead against her
hair, kissing her forehead gently, closing his eyes.
"Why did you do this?"
Her blood that soaked his jacket cooled down even quicker than her body, he
didn't notice it. Why did she do this? Why did she throw her life away? What
did she miss that she decided to take this radical, irreversible step? She
seemed to be happy, satisfied, she never asked for anything, told him what she
was missing. Why she did't tell? What did she hide from him? There was no
answer, for none of his questions, she would not be able to tell him anymore.
"Mum? Where are you?"
He opened his eyes again, their youngest son was back home. What he was
supposed to tell him? What could he tell him? Their sons always had a closer
relationship to their mother than to him.
Carefully he laid her body down on the floor, caressed her cheek a last time
and stood up, heading towards the open sliding door. Reaching the door he
turned, casting a last glance on his dead wife lying in a pool of her own
blood in the middle of the room, her hair lying around her. He closed his
eyes, he would always remember the sight. But he also would always remember
her body close to him, her scent, her love. He opened his eyes again.
"Father?" His son came around the corner and saw him "Here you are! I can't
find mum, where is she?"
Hajime closed the sliding door and looked at his son who approached him
"Why don't you two use a lantern? You can't see a damn thing in this dark
house! I already fell over a box standing in the way at the entrance."
Suddenly he realised the strange face expression and composure of his father
and narrowed his eyes.
"Dad? Is something wrong?"
His father wasn't moving, just staring at him, it sent shivers down his spine.
Suspiciously he reached out his hand to touch his father's arm to wake him up
of his stupor, but he quickly retreated as his hand touched the icy, wet
material. He looked at his hand, it was covered with a dark liquid, he raised
his hand to his nose. The warmth of his hand made the dark liquid smell in the
cold air.
"Your sleeve is soaked with blood! Father! What happened here?"
Roughly his father pushed him aside and walked in the direction of the
bath-house. He lost his footing, entirely surprised by the sudden movement
of his father.
"FATHER!"
His father turned to face him once more and the words died in his throat for
he showed a face expression he had never seen on him before, something must be
damn wrong.
"Your mother is dead, son."
Turning around again his father continued walking towards the bath-house,
leaving his son behind dump-folded, with wide-open eyes, standing rooted to
the place. What did he say? 'Your mother is dead?' It must be a mistake, he
must have heard wrong, she had been healthy and energetic as ever this
morning.
It must have something to do with room he had just seen his father leaving.
After some seconds he opened the door to the room and the sight let make his
blood run cold.
He saw his mother lying in her blood, her hair spreading around her, her dagger
lying beside her, her cheek was bloodied, the wound in her throat obvious.
He remembered his mother when his father was not around, her happiness, her
cheerfulness, her slightly different behaviour.
His conclusion was clear and his accusation serious as he ran in the
direction of the bath-house, stopping right behind his father, grabbing
his arm, turning him around, staring up at his face.
"You killed her! You cold-hearted bastard!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stabbing the dagger into the carotid artery is the kind of suicide a wife of a
samurai chose, after her husband had to commit suicide.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
written in February 2002
re-posted in December 2002
I hope you enjoyed it.
Ja ne,
Mara
I'm not Watsuki and don't own Ruroken though I wish I did.
All rights belong to Shueisha, Sony and only the hell knows whom else.
As always similarities to the real, historic Saito Hajime are pure coincidence
and most likely non-existing =^^=.
WARNING: I'm not a native speaker, mayor grammar and vocabulary mistakes might
be ahead, hopefully you will not be distracted by them.
Not to confuse you: The story is about Saitou Hajime/Tokio.
The POV changes several times, I hope it works and is understandable,
please tell me if not.
Of course the ending is different :-), I can write a bit more here than
in the other version.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UNREQUITED LOVE 2.VERSION
She was kneeling in the middle of a closed room, her long black hair falling
open down her back, reaching the sole of her feet. The first white hairs
that could be seen indicated that she was not in her youngest years anymore.
Feeling the sensation of a cold winters night on her skin she shivered.
Thoughtfully she looked down at her hands, a dagger was lying in them, her
fingertips were already a bit blue from the cold air, barely discernible for
the sun was already setting down and the last ray of light faded from the room.
She raised her head and the look of her deep-brown eyes got lost somewhere in
the distance, lost in some memories, not recognisable for an outside observer.
The cold steel of the blade in her left hand, the cold hilt of the dagger in
her right hand were her only connection to reality while thinking about the
last weeks.
Why was she sitting here? What happened?
For some weeks a dear friend of her had been seriously ill, nobody had
considered it worth mentioning when she was around. She had wondered why she
had not seen him on the streets for a longer time and finally she had decided
to ask a mutual friend. She informed her of Yoichi's disease. Nobody had
thought of telling her about his illness, nobody considered it important for
her to know earlier. When she was told at last she tried to visit him, but she
had been too occupied with her duties and obligations for the last days. When
she was finally standing in front of his house, she was told that he already
was dead. Died on a disease, no doctor was able to help him, she was too late.
There was so much she would have wanted to have told him, but she never had
the courage. She knew him for thirty years, but she never found the courage.
It had been so much easier to deny her feelings.
She said nothing when her father ordered her to marry Saitou Hajime, she
didn't offend him, she had accepted it, knowing there was no real chance for a
life together with Yoichi. She remained silent, she denied her love for him.
After all she knew that there was always a chance to meet him on the streets,
to cast a glance at him or to speak with him. Living for these short moments,
living for an unfulfilled dream. The dream has died together with him, was
there still something worth living for?
She did everything for her husband, tried to be a loving, caring,
understanding wife, but was that enough? Giving it a try? Smiling warm and
loving while thinking of another man? Lying beside him, feeling his body
close, pretending to enjoy him while thinking of Yoichi.
Did he care about her emotions, did he notice that she was pretending?
Would this chance anything?
Giving birth to three children, educating them, noticing her husband's pride
while watching them. Inwardly hoping it would be Yoichi's sons and Yoichi's
pride.
Their sons were grown up now, all three working successful in respectable jobs,
two of them already married having children. They wouldn't need her anymore.
The one love she had lived for was gone, Yoichi was dead.
She should have done this earlier when she had realised what she had missed in
her life. To tell Yoichi that she loved him, the last chance to put things
right. The last chance was gone with his death. Had it been a mistake to agree
to the marriage, to spent her live with Hajime?
There is no chance to live one's life again. You only have one try, no
room, no space for committing an error.
Gropingly with her left hand she searched for the pulse in her throat and
raised the dagger with her right hand to the spot. Hesitating a last time,
she heard Hajimes footsteps on the wooden floor, he was looking for her. Was
there something worth living for? Remembering Yoichi's always friendly, kindly
face. Not any longer. She concentrated and stabbed the dagger into her carotid
artery.
***
It had been a terrible day for him. He was sure, he was only surrounded by
incompetent idiots. If you want to get a job done correct and conscientious you
can only rely on yourself. This slovenly, shallow police-man who investigated
the murder of the politician this day missed an important body of evidence at
the scene of the crime, asked the wrong persons the wrong questions, sent the
eye witness home. On top of that he lost the name and the address of the
witness to the crime on his way to the police station. The report he had been
given was worth a piece of shit. If this was the human material the new
government relied on this era wouldn't last very long, he smirked
sarcastically.
He shivered and pulled his cape closer around him, this winters night
promised to become an extraordinary cold one.
But there was his house, his wife would already be waiting for him, they would
spent a relaxing, peaceful evening together, his duties wouldn't bother him
the rest of the evening anymore. He could get rid of the memories of the
annoying underlinings he had to deal with. Sliding the front door aside he
stepped into the house.
"Tokio? I'm home."
He took of his boots and sat his foot on the wooden floor, even the wood felt
cold through his socks. Slightly irritated he narrowed his eyes, where was his
wife? Usually she greeted him, he needed her warm, loving smile right now.
He opened the door to the first room, took a short glance inside, she was not
there, maybe in the next one? Opening the next door, but also no Tokio inside.
His feeling of irritation got stronger, by now she should have noticed his
presence, why was she not coming to greet him? A strange and annoying day.
He opened the door to the last room downstairs she could be in and saw his
wife kneeling in the middle of the room, her back facing him, a dagger in her
hand, raised to her throat. What the hell was she doing there?
The first drop of blood appeared on the shimmering blade and dropped to the
floor. His eyes widened. She stabbed it in her throat? She was committing
suicide?
"Tokio!"
He ran toward her, catching her body before it hit the floor and knelt down,
unable to form a clear thought. What was going on here? What did he miss?
What had threatened her, disturbed her so much that she ended her life?
From what he had not been able to protect her? Her beautiful dark-brown eyes
were closed, he wasn't able to spot her emotions without seeing into her eyes.
"Tokio."
Her eyes remained closed as he spoke to her gently, she couldn't been dead
already, it happened only some seconds ago. He arranged her in his arms,
supporting her upper body with one arm and his thighs, searching for the wound
with his other hand. Maybe there was still a chance to keep her alive.
"Tokio, wake up!"
He found the wound, tried to close it with his fingers, but still there was
blood coming out of it and he examined the spot closer.
Pointless trying to stop her bleeding, she had hit the vital point, she had
already lost to much blood. Her blood ran down her neck, soaking his sleeve,
his trouser, the tatami he was kneeling on. Her weakening heart-beat, her
pulse continued to ticker her blood out of her body. Futile. She would die.
He laid a hand on her cheek and she opened her deep-brown eyes to look at him.
What had happened? She had always seemed to be satisfied to him.
He did only have this one chance, there was no second try.
"Tokio," Gently he spoke to her, caressed her cheek "Why did you do this?"
"It is too late, Hajime." She closed her eyes again. Eyes, he only knew with
shining happiness and love in them, but now, short before her death he saw
peace and satisfaction as if she had found an answer for an question she had
been looking for a long time. 'too late?' For what? They had lived for twenty
years together, there had been plenty of time, for what it could be too late
then? Why didn't she want to stay alive? What was gone wrong?
He hold her body close to him, feeling the slackening of her muscles, she was
dead. He had never told her what he felt for her.
"Tokio, I love you."
He felt no reaction, he pulled her dead, limp body closer to him, it felt
colder in his embrace with every second. He leaned his forehead against her
hair, kissing her forehead gently, closing his eyes.
"Why did you do this?"
Her blood that soaked his jacket cooled down even quicker than her body, he
didn't notice it. Why did she do this? Why did she throw her life away? What
did she miss that she decided to take this radical, irreversible step? She
seemed to be happy, satisfied, she never asked for anything, told him what she
was missing. Why she did't tell? What did she hide from him? There was no
answer, for none of his questions, she would not be able to tell him anymore.
"Mum? Where are you?"
He opened his eyes again, their youngest son was back home. What he was
supposed to tell him? What could he tell him? Their sons always had a closer
relationship to their mother than to him.
Carefully he laid her body down on the floor, caressed her cheek a last time
and stood up, heading towards the open sliding door. Reaching the door he
turned, casting a last glance on his dead wife lying in a pool of her own
blood in the middle of the room, her hair lying around her. He closed his
eyes, he would always remember the sight. But he also would always remember
her body close to him, her scent, her love. He opened his eyes again.
"Father?" His son came around the corner and saw him "Here you are! I can't
find mum, where is she?"
Hajime closed the sliding door and looked at his son who approached him
"Why don't you two use a lantern? You can't see a damn thing in this dark
house! I already fell over a box standing in the way at the entrance."
Suddenly he realised the strange face expression and composure of his father
and narrowed his eyes.
"Dad? Is something wrong?"
His father wasn't moving, just staring at him, it sent shivers down his spine.
Suspiciously he reached out his hand to touch his father's arm to wake him up
of his stupor, but he quickly retreated as his hand touched the icy, wet
material. He looked at his hand, it was covered with a dark liquid, he raised
his hand to his nose. The warmth of his hand made the dark liquid smell in the
cold air.
"Your sleeve is soaked with blood! Father! What happened here?"
Roughly his father pushed him aside and walked in the direction of the
bath-house. He lost his footing, entirely surprised by the sudden movement
of his father.
"FATHER!"
His father turned to face him once more and the words died in his throat for
he showed a face expression he had never seen on him before, something must be
damn wrong.
"Your mother is dead, son."
Turning around again his father continued walking towards the bath-house,
leaving his son behind dump-folded, with wide-open eyes, standing rooted to
the place. What did he say? 'Your mother is dead?' It must be a mistake, he
must have heard wrong, she had been healthy and energetic as ever this
morning.
It must have something to do with room he had just seen his father leaving.
After some seconds he opened the door to the room and the sight let make his
blood run cold.
He saw his mother lying in her blood, her hair spreading around her, her dagger
lying beside her, her cheek was bloodied, the wound in her throat obvious.
He remembered his mother when his father was not around, her happiness, her
cheerfulness, her slightly different behaviour.
His conclusion was clear and his accusation serious as he ran in the
direction of the bath-house, stopping right behind his father, grabbing
his arm, turning him around, staring up at his face.
"You killed her! You cold-hearted bastard!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stabbing the dagger into the carotid artery is the kind of suicide a wife of a
samurai chose, after her husband had to commit suicide.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
written in February 2002
re-posted in December 2002
I hope you enjoyed it.
Ja ne,
Mara