This is only my second fic, but the descriptions are good and there are actually...GASP...metaphors. Warning: there's some blood in it, too. Please review, even if you must flame. I like flames; they help heat my house and keep my fireplace lit. If you like it or want me to explain something you didn't understand, feel free to tell me that. Corrections and suggestions are welcome, as well. Hope you like it (or even understand it)
P.S.-I do not own Kenshin. Although if I did, I'd probably use him on Halloween to scare the pesky kids in my neighborhood. (^_^)
Tears of Blood
Light from the blood-moon shone down on the wheat field. A silhouette of a human-like figure stood in the field's center, the sole survivor of a massacre. Red crop circles surrounded the figure, which, upon closer inspection, were formed by the mangled bodies of fallen men. Pools of life-blood, gathered around the corpses of once-humans, stifled the last breaths of those not yet departed. Blood tainted the ground, and the crops seemed to wither at any contact with the red death. No creature of the night stirred; all was silent. The figure stood calmly in the center of this grotesque scene, unfazed by the red sea surrounding him. Lying on an island as of yet untouched by the bloody ocean, and highlighted by the moon's rays, was an assassin's sword. Apparently dropped by the figure out of pure exhaustion at the battle's end, the sword was reclaimed by his dark hand, that extended from the shadows and grasped the sword at it's hilt. The figure held the sword up to his face, and examined the nicked blade. Tinted a rosey hue, the blade reflected the image of its master. Steel gray eyes peered back from the sword, sharper in intensity than the blade itself. Red hair, tied up and set high on the killer's head, hid any bloodstains from the blade's discerning eye. Fingers, enveloped by sleeves of a tattered and dirtied kimono, pressed against an inscription on the flat of the killing machine. "Hitokiri Battousai", spoke the blade to the handler, and this seemed to satisfy him for a moment.
Then, the Battousai froze. He surveyed the ring of death and destruction that encircled him. His eyes shifted to and fro uneasily, as if hiding something. The deep silver pools of his eyes then swelled with water. Knees weakening, he plunged his blade into the soft earth. This cane was all that kept him upright. "I cannot keep this up," thought the Battousai. Lying next to him was a tiny girl, clutching a doll, her only friend during her last moments. The Battousai's inner self, Himura Kenshin, rushed out of him, and was given form in mercury tears. Stooped over the child's lifeless body, his waterfall of tears washed away the blood on her pale face. He made her a makeshift grave, marked by a pyramid of rocks. "No," Kenshin spoke softly to himself, gently setting the doll on the tip of the pile. "This I will do no more, that I will. No more blood of innocents will be shed by my hands." He mustered all his strength and was able to stand. He pulled the sword out of its bed of earth, and attempted to place it in its holder. As it slid into its sheath, the blade slit a small opening in Kenshin's hand. A few drops of blood seeped through the cut, ran along the length of the blade, and dripped off of its tip. He paused, pulled the blade up to his face, and eyed it precariously. Kenshin was sure he was not imagining what he had just felt. "The blade...it...no...its not...possible... It felt as if the blade itself was thirsting for blood...".
Himura snickered uneasily at this idea. This snicker began to amplify, and transformed into a full-fledged cackle. As Kenshin flung his head back to face the moon in hysterical laughter, the Battousai returned. His eyes glazed over as if in a trance, and fell upon the blade, tightly clenched in his hands. "Yessssssssss..." spoke the blade. "Give in to your rage, your desire, your sorrow. There is no use in holding it back. You NEED to kill; its what you do best. Spill more blood; feel no guilt. Wash away your troubles in a bloodbath." "This is it," Battousai laughed maniacally. "All the blood has finally gone to my head; I've surely snapped. It's this damned bastard of a blade that is in control, not me." With those words, the Battousai impulsively grabbed the sword's hilt in one hand, and it's tip in another. "What are you doing? You need me!" the sword proclaimed. "I am your sole guide on the aimless journey that you call a life. You cannot break me! Hmmm...hahaha. If you cannot break me, then why am I worrying? Go ahead. Break me. Snap me in two; I won't mind." Battousai clenched the blade tighter, again cutting his hand. The blade screamed, sent into a maddened frenzy at the taste of blood. "DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" it wailed, as it started to give way and bend. The Battousai's hands were shaping the blade with the same determination as if he were shaping his own destiny. As the blade snapped, ceased it's death-cry, and fell from the Battousai's limp hands, the sky became overcast with clouds. Battousai toyed with the remaining stump of the blade, grinning psychotically as he brought it towards his chest. He entertained the thought of sheathing it permanently in his heart. Just as quickly as he thought this, he cast the broken sword to the ground. "I am not weak," he assured himself. "I must face my problems, not hide from them like a coward". The blood-moon was now completely hidden by the heavens, which suddenly opened up and appeared to weep for Himura Kenshin, whose pure spirit was trapped in the body of an assassin. Blood was washed away by the torrential rains, and new life was given to the lifeless. The true soul of Battousai was now free from the puppetry of the wretched blade, and Kenshin lifted his head towards the sky. As the cleansing waters rolled down his softened face like beads of sweat, he thought to himself, "This...this is what I must do. I must repent for my sins by cleansing the human race of its sins. I must rid the Earth of its evils in order to repent for my own."
Himura Kenshin walked away from the battlefield a changed man. As he left the place of his transformation, the winds of change parted the silver sea of wheat in front of him, and revealed a road he had never taken before. And yet, as he walked this road with a new view of life, he could not blind himself to his terrible past. He left a trail of bloody footprints that marred the road as he began his journey of reconcilialtion.
P.S.-I do not own Kenshin. Although if I did, I'd probably use him on Halloween to scare the pesky kids in my neighborhood. (^_^)
Tears of Blood
Light from the blood-moon shone down on the wheat field. A silhouette of a human-like figure stood in the field's center, the sole survivor of a massacre. Red crop circles surrounded the figure, which, upon closer inspection, were formed by the mangled bodies of fallen men. Pools of life-blood, gathered around the corpses of once-humans, stifled the last breaths of those not yet departed. Blood tainted the ground, and the crops seemed to wither at any contact with the red death. No creature of the night stirred; all was silent. The figure stood calmly in the center of this grotesque scene, unfazed by the red sea surrounding him. Lying on an island as of yet untouched by the bloody ocean, and highlighted by the moon's rays, was an assassin's sword. Apparently dropped by the figure out of pure exhaustion at the battle's end, the sword was reclaimed by his dark hand, that extended from the shadows and grasped the sword at it's hilt. The figure held the sword up to his face, and examined the nicked blade. Tinted a rosey hue, the blade reflected the image of its master. Steel gray eyes peered back from the sword, sharper in intensity than the blade itself. Red hair, tied up and set high on the killer's head, hid any bloodstains from the blade's discerning eye. Fingers, enveloped by sleeves of a tattered and dirtied kimono, pressed against an inscription on the flat of the killing machine. "Hitokiri Battousai", spoke the blade to the handler, and this seemed to satisfy him for a moment.
Then, the Battousai froze. He surveyed the ring of death and destruction that encircled him. His eyes shifted to and fro uneasily, as if hiding something. The deep silver pools of his eyes then swelled with water. Knees weakening, he plunged his blade into the soft earth. This cane was all that kept him upright. "I cannot keep this up," thought the Battousai. Lying next to him was a tiny girl, clutching a doll, her only friend during her last moments. The Battousai's inner self, Himura Kenshin, rushed out of him, and was given form in mercury tears. Stooped over the child's lifeless body, his waterfall of tears washed away the blood on her pale face. He made her a makeshift grave, marked by a pyramid of rocks. "No," Kenshin spoke softly to himself, gently setting the doll on the tip of the pile. "This I will do no more, that I will. No more blood of innocents will be shed by my hands." He mustered all his strength and was able to stand. He pulled the sword out of its bed of earth, and attempted to place it in its holder. As it slid into its sheath, the blade slit a small opening in Kenshin's hand. A few drops of blood seeped through the cut, ran along the length of the blade, and dripped off of its tip. He paused, pulled the blade up to his face, and eyed it precariously. Kenshin was sure he was not imagining what he had just felt. "The blade...it...no...its not...possible... It felt as if the blade itself was thirsting for blood...".
Himura snickered uneasily at this idea. This snicker began to amplify, and transformed into a full-fledged cackle. As Kenshin flung his head back to face the moon in hysterical laughter, the Battousai returned. His eyes glazed over as if in a trance, and fell upon the blade, tightly clenched in his hands. "Yessssssssss..." spoke the blade. "Give in to your rage, your desire, your sorrow. There is no use in holding it back. You NEED to kill; its what you do best. Spill more blood; feel no guilt. Wash away your troubles in a bloodbath." "This is it," Battousai laughed maniacally. "All the blood has finally gone to my head; I've surely snapped. It's this damned bastard of a blade that is in control, not me." With those words, the Battousai impulsively grabbed the sword's hilt in one hand, and it's tip in another. "What are you doing? You need me!" the sword proclaimed. "I am your sole guide on the aimless journey that you call a life. You cannot break me! Hmmm...hahaha. If you cannot break me, then why am I worrying? Go ahead. Break me. Snap me in two; I won't mind." Battousai clenched the blade tighter, again cutting his hand. The blade screamed, sent into a maddened frenzy at the taste of blood. "DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" it wailed, as it started to give way and bend. The Battousai's hands were shaping the blade with the same determination as if he were shaping his own destiny. As the blade snapped, ceased it's death-cry, and fell from the Battousai's limp hands, the sky became overcast with clouds. Battousai toyed with the remaining stump of the blade, grinning psychotically as he brought it towards his chest. He entertained the thought of sheathing it permanently in his heart. Just as quickly as he thought this, he cast the broken sword to the ground. "I am not weak," he assured himself. "I must face my problems, not hide from them like a coward". The blood-moon was now completely hidden by the heavens, which suddenly opened up and appeared to weep for Himura Kenshin, whose pure spirit was trapped in the body of an assassin. Blood was washed away by the torrential rains, and new life was given to the lifeless. The true soul of Battousai was now free from the puppetry of the wretched blade, and Kenshin lifted his head towards the sky. As the cleansing waters rolled down his softened face like beads of sweat, he thought to himself, "This...this is what I must do. I must repent for my sins by cleansing the human race of its sins. I must rid the Earth of its evils in order to repent for my own."
Himura Kenshin walked away from the battlefield a changed man. As he left the place of his transformation, the winds of change parted the silver sea of wheat in front of him, and revealed a road he had never taken before. And yet, as he walked this road with a new view of life, he could not blind himself to his terrible past. He left a trail of bloody footprints that marred the road as he began his journey of reconcilialtion.