Of Swords and Words III
"I hate you!"
Three words.
How could they hurt so?
But they did.
Each and every time.
Each and every time someone shouted, screamed, uttered them.
To him.
A duel. A face-off. A one-on-one.
Eyes that spoke volumes about a hatred that had taken root so deep it hurt.
And more so if it were removed.
Sword-hand ready; muscles tensed.
Ears that heard nothing but an eerie, mysterious chanting.
Hatred had taken over.
The strike.
Hearts that were iced, immune to feeling.
Consumed by the cold fire of hatred.
He had come face to face with such men and women over the years.
And had come to see such encounters as atonement.
Atonement for his deeds as Battousai.
Yet, the words had never stopped slashing away at his heart each time he heard them.
They told of a heart shattered by the death of a family member at the hands of the Battousai.
They told of unhealed scars in a person's mind, caused by the Battousai.
And now, he heard them from his son.
His son.
His flesh and blood.
Himura Kenji's eyes burned with rage.
A rage so terrifying it brought coldness into the heart of the fearless swordsman.
A rage that chilled the bones of the man who was once known as the greatest killer of all.
Himura Kenshin remembered his past, and saw himself in his son.
The same fears. The same anger.
The same killing rage.
With resignation, Himura Kenshin had taken on every one of those who sought to kill him.
Unnerved them with his quiet acceptance, his unwillingness to kill.
And now, he faced his son.
His life had never been more dependent on the outcome of a fight.
And yet, Himura Kenshin was helpless.
Utterly helpless, as he stared into the eyes of the son he almost didn't recognise.
Could love be taught?
An inner voice answered him,
No, but it can be shown.
~owari
"I hate you!"
Three words.
How could they hurt so?
But they did.
Each and every time.
Each and every time someone shouted, screamed, uttered them.
To him.
A duel. A face-off. A one-on-one.
Eyes that spoke volumes about a hatred that had taken root so deep it hurt.
And more so if it were removed.
Sword-hand ready; muscles tensed.
Ears that heard nothing but an eerie, mysterious chanting.
Hatred had taken over.
The strike.
Hearts that were iced, immune to feeling.
Consumed by the cold fire of hatred.
He had come face to face with such men and women over the years.
And had come to see such encounters as atonement.
Atonement for his deeds as Battousai.
Yet, the words had never stopped slashing away at his heart each time he heard them.
They told of a heart shattered by the death of a family member at the hands of the Battousai.
They told of unhealed scars in a person's mind, caused by the Battousai.
And now, he heard them from his son.
His son.
His flesh and blood.
Himura Kenji's eyes burned with rage.
A rage so terrifying it brought coldness into the heart of the fearless swordsman.
A rage that chilled the bones of the man who was once known as the greatest killer of all.
Himura Kenshin remembered his past, and saw himself in his son.
The same fears. The same anger.
The same killing rage.
With resignation, Himura Kenshin had taken on every one of those who sought to kill him.
Unnerved them with his quiet acceptance, his unwillingness to kill.
And now, he faced his son.
His life had never been more dependent on the outcome of a fight.
And yet, Himura Kenshin was helpless.
Utterly helpless, as he stared into the eyes of the son he almost didn't recognise.
Could love be taught?
An inner voice answered him,
No, but it can be shown.
~owari