My Immortal
Consumption
A hospital.
Of all places, of all ways to go. A hospital. Not honor in battle, no going out and fighting for what I believe in. Never again will I have the joy to look evil in the face and slay it without hesitation.
A hospital. Well, I suppose there is some good come of that. I was not defeated by mortal man, but by immortal disease, by the one thing that man cannot conquer, cannot fight. No matter how strong the spirit, all who meet it die. I am----- was----- helpless against it. But I lasted a long time, no one can deny me that. My men did not know, or so I pray.
I spent all my time fighting to keep them ignorant of my condition. Perhaps if I had gone to a doctor earlier----but I am not going to let my mind go down those paths. And yet I am so young. So young and dead. I suppose that moping about that won't help though. Every time I begin to get too sardonic I must remember how I was in life. Not as if I am in anyway restricted to a smile. I am perfectly capable of showing other emotions on my face. I frequently did, but not in public. Not when civilians are present.
But my men....they saw how I fought. They saw the way I put my whole self into battle, and still enjoyed it. Not the bloodlust of it mind you, but the game of it, the strategy. I loved that rush when I found a worthy opponent, but they also saw how I mourned my actions, and mourned the fact that I had to kill. I did not enjoy killing. I did it because I had to, but I did enjoy the fight. I would not have stepped back from any of the choices I made.
And even after giving all my soul to the fight, I died from disease. Forgotten in some hospital erected for those of us condemned to death by fate, unable to wield a blade against this invisible enemy.
At least before I went, I got to fight the assassin. I didn't even know his name. But what a fight, how glorious the quick movements of his blade and the staccato returns of my own. What a worthy opponent. How sad we could not finish our duel, how sad that we could not do it when we were both at our best. But by that time, the sickness had already completely taken my lungs, and exertions such as fighting caused such a strain.
And then Saito-san stepped in. He said he'd known about my sickness for a while. How sad. I tried...but I don't think the rest of the Shinsengumi knew, I hope, I pray. I have to admit, it was rather hard to keep anything from Saito.
Yet he was so good at keeping things from the rest of us, though in a different way than I. I remember the day I found out he had a wife! I nearly died laughing. Literally, when I was finally alone after that, I coughed up so much blood...so very much. I am in the business of killing, yet seeing all that blood splatter into my own hands and then looking into the water's reflection and to see it splattered across my pale face...it made me sick.
I can distinctly remember that smell of life-blood, and the thickness in my mouth, the iron aftertaste and the mucus caught up with it. The burbling of my breath, the feeling as if I were drowning from the inside, suffocated by my own blood...and the pain from the racking in my chest, the shudders that went through my body leaving me gasping on the floor for a long time afterwards.
Of course I had to clean it all up. If anyone came in and saw all that blood they would suspect. I could leave the flecks on my uniform though. There were more there that were not my own. And when Saito said he smelled blood that one time...I used to be able to smell blood too, before my own breath smelled of it, before the smell never left me, even in my dreams. And I dreamed a lot, as I slept when I could.
I was always so tired then too, I remember many men inviting me out to a teahouse with them, or to walk with them to some brothel or other, but I refused. I could not go like that. I would just curl up in my futon and try to sleep without dwelling on how short of a time I had left. I knew I would die soon, die young. And then I could have probably used distraction more than any other time in my life.
I remember one night I did go out and did enjoy myself at a teahouse. I don't remember the name. But there was one geisha there, charming and coy and beautiful...her painted face and ivory-white neck...
Komagata...Yumi
That was it. I was quite taken with her...it showed I suppose, the men teasing me for days after. They had every right to though, most of them being older than me. And I went when I could; to the teahouse parties I knew she would be at. Had I lived longer, had I the money, I would have liked to become her danna, though I was but a captain of the Shinsengumi. I know I was well known. I had been allowed to join a dojo when I was but eleven, so young. And I fought when I was younger. But only an unsuccessful Geisha would ever take me as their danna.
But I hope she lived through the Bakamatsu. I hope she is living a good life, enjoying herself, doing what she wants to do, though the chances of a geisha doing that are slim.
She, of course, did not know I was sick either. I could not afford to let anyone know. Not only for my own pride either. For my men. It would have brought down their morale. To see the youngest, one of the most well known cut down in his prime, and not even by an opposing blade.
I might have been happy to die by that hitokiri's blade. That might have satisfied me. Though I hope it would have been quick...I am no coward but I would prefer to die easy and quick...and by the blade of another, not forced to hara-kiri by some stain to my name. Ah, but what use is it now...it is all said and done, nothing can be changed. I have all eternity to think and to live with my very soul's consumption by bits of regret.
And maybe, one day in these halls of the after-world, I will meet that hitokiri, and know his name and his ideas and him. And the cry that drove him to what he did.
That we may both be consumed together.
Consumption
A hospital.
Of all places, of all ways to go. A hospital. Not honor in battle, no going out and fighting for what I believe in. Never again will I have the joy to look evil in the face and slay it without hesitation.
A hospital. Well, I suppose there is some good come of that. I was not defeated by mortal man, but by immortal disease, by the one thing that man cannot conquer, cannot fight. No matter how strong the spirit, all who meet it die. I am----- was----- helpless against it. But I lasted a long time, no one can deny me that. My men did not know, or so I pray.
I spent all my time fighting to keep them ignorant of my condition. Perhaps if I had gone to a doctor earlier----but I am not going to let my mind go down those paths. And yet I am so young. So young and dead. I suppose that moping about that won't help though. Every time I begin to get too sardonic I must remember how I was in life. Not as if I am in anyway restricted to a smile. I am perfectly capable of showing other emotions on my face. I frequently did, but not in public. Not when civilians are present.
But my men....they saw how I fought. They saw the way I put my whole self into battle, and still enjoyed it. Not the bloodlust of it mind you, but the game of it, the strategy. I loved that rush when I found a worthy opponent, but they also saw how I mourned my actions, and mourned the fact that I had to kill. I did not enjoy killing. I did it because I had to, but I did enjoy the fight. I would not have stepped back from any of the choices I made.
And even after giving all my soul to the fight, I died from disease. Forgotten in some hospital erected for those of us condemned to death by fate, unable to wield a blade against this invisible enemy.
At least before I went, I got to fight the assassin. I didn't even know his name. But what a fight, how glorious the quick movements of his blade and the staccato returns of my own. What a worthy opponent. How sad we could not finish our duel, how sad that we could not do it when we were both at our best. But by that time, the sickness had already completely taken my lungs, and exertions such as fighting caused such a strain.
And then Saito-san stepped in. He said he'd known about my sickness for a while. How sad. I tried...but I don't think the rest of the Shinsengumi knew, I hope, I pray. I have to admit, it was rather hard to keep anything from Saito.
Yet he was so good at keeping things from the rest of us, though in a different way than I. I remember the day I found out he had a wife! I nearly died laughing. Literally, when I was finally alone after that, I coughed up so much blood...so very much. I am in the business of killing, yet seeing all that blood splatter into my own hands and then looking into the water's reflection and to see it splattered across my pale face...it made me sick.
I can distinctly remember that smell of life-blood, and the thickness in my mouth, the iron aftertaste and the mucus caught up with it. The burbling of my breath, the feeling as if I were drowning from the inside, suffocated by my own blood...and the pain from the racking in my chest, the shudders that went through my body leaving me gasping on the floor for a long time afterwards.
Of course I had to clean it all up. If anyone came in and saw all that blood they would suspect. I could leave the flecks on my uniform though. There were more there that were not my own. And when Saito said he smelled blood that one time...I used to be able to smell blood too, before my own breath smelled of it, before the smell never left me, even in my dreams. And I dreamed a lot, as I slept when I could.
I was always so tired then too, I remember many men inviting me out to a teahouse with them, or to walk with them to some brothel or other, but I refused. I could not go like that. I would just curl up in my futon and try to sleep without dwelling on how short of a time I had left. I knew I would die soon, die young. And then I could have probably used distraction more than any other time in my life.
I remember one night I did go out and did enjoy myself at a teahouse. I don't remember the name. But there was one geisha there, charming and coy and beautiful...her painted face and ivory-white neck...
Komagata...Yumi
That was it. I was quite taken with her...it showed I suppose, the men teasing me for days after. They had every right to though, most of them being older than me. And I went when I could; to the teahouse parties I knew she would be at. Had I lived longer, had I the money, I would have liked to become her danna, though I was but a captain of the Shinsengumi. I know I was well known. I had been allowed to join a dojo when I was but eleven, so young. And I fought when I was younger. But only an unsuccessful Geisha would ever take me as their danna.
But I hope she lived through the Bakamatsu. I hope she is living a good life, enjoying herself, doing what she wants to do, though the chances of a geisha doing that are slim.
She, of course, did not know I was sick either. I could not afford to let anyone know. Not only for my own pride either. For my men. It would have brought down their morale. To see the youngest, one of the most well known cut down in his prime, and not even by an opposing blade.
I might have been happy to die by that hitokiri's blade. That might have satisfied me. Though I hope it would have been quick...I am no coward but I would prefer to die easy and quick...and by the blade of another, not forced to hara-kiri by some stain to my name. Ah, but what use is it now...it is all said and done, nothing can be changed. I have all eternity to think and to live with my very soul's consumption by bits of regret.
And maybe, one day in these halls of the after-world, I will meet that hitokiri, and know his name and his ideas and him. And the cry that drove him to what he did.
That we may both be consumed together.