Vanity
By: Kowareta
Genkai contemplates the vanity of people. But perhaps in some way being vain makes us who we are. Or at the very least, when all is said and done, helps us realize that we are only humans, and can do no more.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho.
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An old woman with a withered face and fading pink hair sat one of the numerous steps that led up to a behemoth temple with large red columns. These foreboding columns seemed to be like a ravenous monster, ready to consume any weak-willed soul that dare to cross the boundary. The woman's pale lips sipped at the fragile glass teacup in her hands. The sweet aroma drifted in a meaningless way without goal or desire. Without sorrow, without anger, its existence so transient it is without realization.
She glanced down the long winding steps. With such a view, it was hard to miss the trees' magnificent beauty. A few days ago the naked branches had exploded into bloom, announcing the commencement of spring. Warmth and shadow dance through the leafy foliage enticing the romantic fairy tales, that children do tell, to take flight. It is the renaissance of life.
An old, time-weary finger traced the rim of the fragile glass tea cup. Brilliant white light echoed off the uniquely engraved glass. This glass had a future. The tea did not. The glass contained, the glass had memories, the glass was life.
Just how far as people, are we willing to go for the sake of beauty?
I never desired to save the world. I was never that vain.
I'm not so deluded as to admit that I thought I was ever beautiful, I'm still not that vain. Perception is key. Why is it that people can never seem to realize that one day their bodies will not remain the tight, flexible, capable bodies that they are?
People are not beautiful, people are not good, people are not kind.
I was never so disillusioned as to believe that people are wholly good or wholly evil. That's just limited thinking. People have potential, that is all that I am willing to admit. They have potential to become what they will. Whether they succeed or not, is entirely up to them. And the amount of success a person receives, is entirely up to perception. Who are we to say that there is only one successful way to live one's life?
The cup of tea had been drained. The old woman sighed discontentedly. Good things never last. Her brown eyes examined the cup that had now become desolate and lost. What good is a container that holds nothing? For a second she contemplated smashing it on the steps.
There is a fundamental power to the ability to change. Many of my colleagues have told me that the world could truly be a great place… 'if only people were better'. If only people were better than people have ever truly been, then there would be no crime, no murder, no hate, no discrimination. But the thing that they fail to realize is that this is a vain belief.
Standing up, the woman surveyed the scenery before her. Perhaps people felt that they were intrinsically flawed and could not change. Perhaps people were so royally screwed over that they could not define that in which destroyed them: their vanity.
The sun was now dipping down under the horizon. Crimson, golden, bronze, and violet hues peeked over trees, turning the bright green foliage a myriad of different colors. A breeze swept by and the canopies looked like colorful candy waltzing to the music that only those who dream can hear.
People have built lives trying to improve themselves even when there was nothing there to improve. We believe that there is something so wrong with us that we seek constant amelioration. We are only deceiving ourselves.
The pink-haired being glanced at the cup again, traced the glass engravings with her finger--then shattered the glass over the steps. Fragments, like ruptured memories and broken light erupted in a colorful display as dusk's brilliant rays gave the cup a soul.
People are vain. The young embellish their looks, the old try to repent for their early adornments and practice the humility they couldn't have the maturity to hold during life. It's a vicious never-ending cycle.
"Oy, Grandma!"
The aged martial artist glanced down her steps at a boy with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes that was heading up her steps, presumably to visit her. A stupid grin rested on his lips as he trekked upwards. Genkai sighed then smiled almost imperceptibly. She rested her hands on her hips and demanded, "What do you want, dimwit?"
The boy shrugged and said, "I had heard from Yukina that a few days back you had a flu. I came to see if you were all right and if there was anything I could do to help."
Sometimes, though only sometimes, people were worth it. Not all people were vain and not all people are stupid, no matter how much they seem like it. You cannot judge the world based on the majority of those who live there.
"Bah! Boy, I don't need to be babied. I am a grown woman. If I need help with anything, it would be keeping you from disturbing my peace."
The boy grinned at her. He knew that no matter how much she pretended to push him away that she really was glad he cared. He glanced at the shards of glass and asked what had happened. The woman smiled sarcastically. The dark haired youth raised an eyebrow waiting for an answer.
"This, Yusuke," she gestured to the fragments of glistening glass, "is how to tell the future."
Yusuke scratched his head and bent down to peer closer at the twinkling glass on the steps. He cocked his head to the side before turning his gaze to his teacher, visibly confused. Was the glass magic?
"The future is that shattered glass will hurt peoples' feet?"
Genkai shook her head and dictated curtly, "No dimwit, all things in time will change. The future is change."
Yusuke contemplated this for a second. The woman thought she had lost the boy for a second before he replied facetiously, "Better to have lived life with all it's tribulations, than to have a panpipe crammed up your naval, right?"
The martial artist blinked, then waved the boy to follow her up the steps. She'd teach him to use his head in the days to come, apparently. A slightly gauche one, but a thinker nonetheless. She held her hands behind her back and held her head high.
No matter how hard people may try, the future was In no one's hands. It was the vanity of people that made them believe that they could actually adapt it. We do not create the future, but in fact, establish the present. Today is not the day of old nor are they the day of new. The future of vanity and the future of everything…
…Is dust.
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