Rurouni Kenshin © Nobuhiro Watsuki
WARNING: Contains angst and mentions of masturbation (not graphic). Also mentions sexual perversion involving the action of killing and the emotions surrounding it. NOT necrophilia.
Flames will be used to toast my marshmallows Read on at your own risk.
The beast within. I am not the first man to succumb to its haunting, hypnotic call, dark and seductive and feral. This is the beast that lurks, snapping, snarling, the essential illness of mankind. This is where our savagery, our brutality, our primal fury stems from. It is like a black river, full of undercurrents, eddies that claw at your ankles, and it is so mind numbingly cold.
For some, the black river is a mere drip of water, easily ignored- after all, all you have to do turn off the tap and the water stops flowing. In the minds of soldiers, samurai, it is a deep, deep river, but if you build your fragile craft of hope and dreams and goodwill, shored up with friendship, the cracks between the boards filled up with love, you can float across.
Me…as for me, it isn't so simple. No taps to be turned off, no dams to be built, no rafts to carry you across safely. I just drown. Endlessly, hopelessly, eternally, I drown. This ocean, this tempest, it's everywhere, and isn't black. Oh no, it's red. Blood red. Tangling in your hair and coating your hands and staining your soul. My soul.
It won't go away. The blood on my hands. How can they not see it? Every time I look down, every time I reach for my swords, every time I take the black envelope. Even when I am doing something stupid, mundane, like eating or opening a window or just walking dully along.
I bite my tongue, feel the blood seeping, filling my mouth. I survive the night. It keeps me on my feet, gives me that semblance of vitality that fools Katsura-san time after time. Inside I am dead, listless, dull. It scares me. I only really feel three emotions any more: shame, terror and anger. The hitokiri's emotions.
There it is again, another persistent flash of crimson-stained skin as I look down. I've lost count of the number of times I've sat all alone at night, just washing my hands again and again and again. Blood everywhere. In my food, in my mouth, dripping from my tongue.
Another night, another target. Black as a witch's soul, cold as the barren wastes of Siberia and this fool dares to challenge to Hitokiri Battousai. Despite myself, I'm almost amused. The katana rises, falls. Blood spills out, rich red, the crimson of dying stars. The copper tang is heavy in the air, intoxicating, hypnotic.
Why do I feel this strange stirring? Fear grips me once more as the sensation takes hold. Where have I felt this before? Then it hits me- in the girl's room.
The girl, arms raised, pale skin bared as she throws her head back and laughs. Her yukata slips from her shoulder and she giggles, uncaring. I stare at the intricate stitching, anywhere but that intent, rapturous face. My gaze drops lower, lower, and I cannot tear my eyes away. What are these feelings that are surfacing? I stare at the pale mounds, swallow, and my hand drops to my groin.
Anguished, I raise my sword- I must complete this mission! Once, twice, thrice, and her mutilated body hits the floor.
I gaze at the Shinsengumi's corpse, and it feels…right. It feels almost seductive, addictive. Again, that stirring, and I swallow. No, this isn't right. I've seen the other Ishin fight, and they never seem troubled by this agony. When I watched that girl, was the lust somehow transferred to a different action?
This thrill I felt, these sexual stirrings-I had felt this when I saw her pale white body twisting in the candlelight. The bloody red river engulfs me, and I see crimson. Before I know it, my hand is touching my groin, and I jerk slightly in pleasure. I need to hide it, make it disappear before the other Ishin can find me. Shaking, I duck around a corner, under the eaves of a building, and begin to frantically relive myself.
Why does it feel so…urgent? Why is the act, the adrenaline of killing transferred into this perversion? I am burning up, dragon flame filling my veins. Is this the ultimate darkness, the true intention that drives a hitokiri onwards? I felt so dead, so lost, but I now I am more than alive, on phoenix wings and full of lust.
"Battousai-san?" The Ishin wait and I must follow. The bloody red river sweeps me into the darkness, and I have no choice but to follow. Eternally, hopelessly, endlessly follow; knowing that there is no light at the end of the tunnel- it's just on fire. There will be no Meiji for me. The red river compels me, and I follow.