- Sixth Petal -

Frustration

With each falling petal, Kanda begins to struggle.

It is so quiet here outside the headquarters. The building is but a shadow in the distant background. Irritations are left behind. A warm breeze sings softly in the empty garden. The brown gate creaks gently. A dry fountain stands as a stone gray icon. Silky flowers and sleek grasses cheer in cheerful tones. Mugen is steady in his hands. He feels the cool, comforting metal of his katana. He relishes the refreshing sensation of the synchronization. It feels almost surreal. There is a buzzing in his ears. Perhaps a result of not being out here for so long? No matter. He trains here often. The garden has long become his companion. Mugen is his comrade too. He is accustomed to the rocks and the wind. There is no reason to stop. It is so peaceful here. He can find such solace in the wild world. He can almost see the willows. He remembers the tranquil lake. The earthy smells. The wafting fragrances. The comforts of native silks. The lilts of village chatter. The firm tatami mats. It is so serene.

Yet why does his heart pound so wildly?

It churns and rumbles. A chill shatters the peace. Mugen now feels heavy in his cold hands. Summer is barely here. The breeze deadens into unmoving air. The faint humidity clings onto his skin. Grasses rattle under his moving boots. Gravel crunches in parched cries. Why—why—why—? Nothing is as it seems anymore. It disgusts him. Jagged maple leaves glint in the faded light. The broken fountain will crumble into countless pebbles. Small stones that will cower in the flow of rainwater. And be buried in mud. In hellish suffocation. Nothing more than dirt. Why—? His breaths come unevenly. Revulsion seeps through his soul. Perspiration forms on his forehead. He grinds his teeth. The garden is a stranger to him. All is left is emptiness. He hates it. He abhors it. He does not know every etch of every rock. He cannot read the ebb and flow of the wind. He does not understand his path. He can no longer gather his memories. They burst into untouchable shards. He does not see the sixth wilting petal. But he sees the maple leaves will not fall—

—yet.

Whatever.

A/N: New style: deliberate choppy sentences! My regards of gratitude (and bowls of, um, fried rice) Ai Minamoto, Gowa, skele-gro, Belladonna-Isabella, Dark Mage Makai, kaito142, Kuro666, Ejarel, RebelFlame, kayter, pika318, azab, chocopuff, tokiya, Zogrem, and Maedhros.

D.Gray-Man (c) Hoshino Katsura