The mind is a fragile thing.
Like a house in a monsoon, the mind is prone to the emotions of the heart. Sadness, greed, hate...And Love.
I knew that emotion well, love. It was complicated and simple. It broke you, but held you together. I was blessed and cursed. Tomoe showed me the bittersweet taste of the sake that never runs dry.
The fire has almost completely burned out. The smokestack in the air was growing smaller and thinner. But then, it could have just been the distance playing tricks on my mind.
Sparing a glance at the position of the sun, I realized it was not only distance; a fair amount of time had passed. Distance...
I ran after I started the fire. It wasn't that I was scared. It was the pain. The dull rhythmic beating of my heart. A constant reminder of the fact that I still lived...and you...you did not.
The acrid smell of fire consuming the place I had shared with you. The memories of that place...the memories of you.
Cold and limp, and now burned to ashes. In the mind of a killer, you were already dead. But in my eyes, you had died long ago, when I had first destroyed you...when I stole your happiness.
As the sun set and the smoke became barely visible, I swore... on my sword and my scar, that I would never take away your happiness ever again. I would live, not die, for you. I would complete the revolution, pushing open the doors of a new era with hands stained with the blood of many, and then...I would disappear. But not before I made you proud. Not before I gave you a new happiness.
I could never replace that man, of that I was sure, but by living... I would make my promise tangible.
As the moon rose, a thought occurred: Atonement. Maybe, I might just make you happy enough if atoned for all those I had killed. Yes. If I purified my soul, I might be able to...join you...or at least be near you.
But one thing was certain; I would live. Live in the era I had created. Live with the pang of loss and bittersweet memories. Live with the blood that I had yet to put to rights. Live with my promise.
As the sun rises, the dew evaporates, leaving no trace of its presence, as does my tears. No one will ever know the great Hitokiri has shed something other than blood; no one but a pile of ashes, formally a corpse.
Edited October 10, 2004 Revisions and additions.