Blood Letting
--
Part I: Easing the Pain
Some think feeling no pain is a blessing;No one wants to feel pain.But they do want to feel—Feel joy, happiness, warmth, and compassion.They envy the glass rose because it can't know pain,But they forget that along with feeling no painIt can also feel no joy, happiness, warmth, or compassion.It cannot feel.
"Shuichi, dear…" My mother's voice startles me back to the present I turn to her expectantly. "There's a boy on the phone called Yuusuke who wants to talk to you."
At her words, I can feel Hiei stop in his tracks and listen intently. She meets me halfway down the porch steps and hands me the phone. Then, she disappears into the house once again. Hiei is at my side within moments of her disappearance, listening. Perhaps this will answer where everyone has disappeared to. He watches me as I answer the phone.
"Hello, Yuusuke. What is it that you need?" I ask casually.
Silence.
"Yes, yes, Hiei is here with me. Why do you ask?"
Silence.
"So, is that why everyone is missing?"
Silence.
"I see. I will tell Hiei and get there shortly, as well. Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you, Yuusuke." I hang up the phone and turn to Hiei; he is looking at me impatiently.
"Well? Where are they all? Why can't I find Yukina?" he snaps impatiently, to the point as ever.
"You cannot find Yukina — or Yuusuke, or Kuwabara — because they are at Genkai's compound. The warding shields block the Jagan's effect. She is fine and with everyone else."
"Why are they all at the old woman's compound?" he hedges, a thoughtful scowl beginning to tug at his lips.
"Because, Hiei—" I stop, momentarily unsure if I wish to voice the words. "—She has died."
The silence that follows the statement is eerie, cold, unnerving. The words seem to hang in the air around our heads, penetrating our thoughts, and then echoing in our empty minds. The vacuum created in my mind, and undoubtedly Hiei's as well, envelops my senses, drowning out logic. Reason lies forgotten.
Utter nothingness remains. It is a most curious sensation.
"So, the old woman finally bought it?" Hiei asks dully, after the silence has crawled on for a few minutes more. His voice is dead, devoid of emotion as usual. But his tone is flat.
He cannot believe it.
Neither can I, really…
"It would appear so," I answer, despite the question being rhetorical.
I turn my back to him then, and return inside the house to put the phone back on the receiver without a word. Even if I want to make my voice known, I doubt fully that I can coax a sound past my throat.
"Shuichi, what did he want?" mother asks, poking her head out of the kitchen to look at me, a curious glint lighting the corners of her gentle, perpetually smiling eyes.
A sick, writhing, and utterly painful coil twists in my stomach, bringing with it undesirable nausea. My stomach turns in protest; I feel the bile rise in my throat, senses burning as I fight back the bitter urge I have to wretch. If I open my mouth now, I know I will lose control of my body. So, I resign myself to shaking my head.
"Nothing of consequence, Mother," I grit out between tightly pressed lips. "But I do have to be getting somewhere now. I will see you again tonight," I manage to get out, past the thick knot burning in my throat.
Without waiting for her reply, I head back out the front door, half-expecting Hiei to already have left. But he has not. Much to my surprise, he is still standing in the same spot I had left him. When I join him he looks up at me, his usually expressive vermillion eyes blank.
Without so much as a word spoken between us, I know what to do, as does he. I nod and we both begin the arduous trek to Genkai's compound.
Hiei is silent for the entirety of the trip, and I see no reason to change this. I am too lost in my own thoughts to make even an idle attempt at conversation.
No words can be said between us.
No words need be said between us.
We are comfortable in our own silence. The other's presence is enough.
Somehow, I just cannot believe it. I am aware that she is — was — old and only human. But I did not think her time would be cut so drastically short. Perhaps this just proves how naïve I have truly become. Thinking that just because someone should not go, does not mean they will not anyway. I know that well, I understand the concept, and I know she is now gone. But knowing she is gone, and willing myself to believe it just yet, is another thing entirely.
So, I just will not believe it. Not quite yet.
With silence hovering over us like ominous rain clouds, we trek on. Never mind the fact that I am too caught up in my own thoughts to pay much of anything its due attentions, I had not expected to get to her compound in what seemed such a short time. But sure enough, here we are, and here I find myself: standing at the bottom of the long stone stairwell that leads into her dojo, and the main chamber of the temple.
We begin the slow ascent of the stairs, both still silent.
What needs to be said?
What can be said?
Nothing.
As we stand before the shoji that will grant entrance into the dojo I am fully in the mind to leave. Opening that screen and facing what is on the other side does not suit me and my current interests. I do not want to come face-to-face with the truth. In the moment I consider leaving, my foot actually inches reflexively from underneath me, pulling me a step away from the inevitable.
I am so used to the lies I live behind that I am afraid of the truth.
Has it truly become such a foreign thing to me?
One withering glance from Hiei snaps my better mentality back into control. I let out a deep sigh, winded and dredged from the very core of my soul, and lay my hand over the smooth rice paper screen. Then, whether I want to or not, I push open the screen and step inside the dojo, allowing Hiei to slip in behind me, before sliding the screen closed again.
What I see is not really all-too-surprising. It is no more or less than I expected, really. I look around the chamber, my eyes lingering on each of my companions:
Botan is sitting in a corner, pulled into a tight ball. Her head rests on her knees, a mess of azure hair. And she is crying. Koenma is kneeling beside her, blue robes billowing around his teenage-retained form. His hand is on her shoulder, trying to comfort her, I suppose. Yuusuke is sitting against the back wall, his eyes blankly staring into space, looking like a shell-shocked, lost child. Keiko is sitting beside him quietly, her eyes fixed on the wooden floor, feet tucked under her wilting figure demurely. Yukina is crying into Kuwabara's shoulder in the opposite corner, her quiet sobs floating in an eerie melody around the room. Shizuru is standing against the wall, a cigarette dangling limply in her hand.
I cast a sidelong glance at Hiei; he stands at my side, almost hesitant to move. I sigh again and cross the threshold, approaching the center of the chamber, and the small wooden casket that lies there.
The casket is a small mahogany box, the sides all engraved with an ancient Buddhist Mantra I recognize well: it wishes prosperity and happiness in the afterlife. Behind the casket is a small alter, a picture of her in the center of it. I smile as I recognize the photograph. It is the one taken of all of us shortly before we left Hanging Neck Island after the termination of the Dark Tournament.
I sink to my knees dutifully and bow before her alter deeply. The sticks of incense placed around the base of the alter punish my sensitive nose greatly. Of all the incense that could have been lain out, I cringe, recognizing the scent: Sandalwood. So bitter, vile, and utterly cheap smelling. But, largely, I ignore it, and remain bowed in my present position for a long while, before standing up again. Then, to bid my final farewell, I reach into my hair and retrieve a young rose bud. In a quick manifestation of my ki, I turn the bud into a beautiful, glowing rose and lay it upon the alter along with the other offerings.
And with that, I say my final farewell.
Afterwards, I retire slowly to an open portion of the far wall and lean against it, allowing myself to slowly fall to the floor. I watch as Hiei approaches the alter as well, and watch him as he bows and pays his respects one last time to the old woman all of us had come to see as a grandmother, a tutor, a friend. When he stands and places his last offering on the alter I cannot help but smile.
I catch the glint of the object.
he small spherical gem object:
A single Hiruiseki.
Then, he too, retreats to an open stretch of wall, in one of the dark, secluded corners of the place.
I close my eyes tiredly. I still cannot believe it. After all we all we have been through, and now she is gone. Gone forever. It does not seem right, morally, that she should be the first among us to leave. Although, in a measure of time, and in regards to Fate's Hourglass, it makes perfect sense. Yet regardless of the rights and wrongs of her passing, one thing remains an undeniable fact: she is a lost entity to eternity.
That is: finality is final. Death is final.
--
He approached the compound nervously, not sure if he should go see the lady inside the ramshackle dojo or not. His mind screamed at him: what if she was not what he expected? What if she could not help him? Would all his planning be for nothing? Would it all go to waste?
After a brief moment of considering and gathering up his courage, he headed up the stone steps slowly and faced the rice paper screen at the end of his path with a determined glint lighting his emerald eyes. He pushed the screen aside slowly, and poked his head inside, glancing around the room. An elderly woman was sitting in the center, her back to him, seemingly in meditation.
"Come on in, Kid, I can sense you're there!" she called snappily, not so much as turning to him within moments of his appearing.
Shocked, he reluctantly slipped into the spacious, if sparsely furnished, chamber and approached the woman. He bowed to her hesitantly, yet deeply and in obvious respect.
"Master Genkai," he began nervously, his voice shaking. His nerves were affecting him and throwing off his normally cool, collected disposition. "Might I ask your advice?"
She opened an eye and gave him a half-cocked smile, a mischievous smile. "Sure thing, Youko."
At her words he pulled himself bolt upright. His eyes focused on her, wide and surprised. Before he could so much as utter a word of confusion she continued on just as though her thread had never been broken.
"Don't be so shocked, runt." She laughed, shaking her head at the bewildered expression plastered upon his smooth, delicately-boned, young face. "Your aura's a dead giveaway. Besides that, I knew it'd be around this time that I'd be seeing you."
"How do you know about Youko?" he asked, suddenly wary.
Yes, he had known of her, and her prowess among the humans. She was, after all, Genkai. But, he little expected her to know him — that is, Youko — so immediately. He had expected that he would at least have to explain himself to her. But, at her greeting, he was quickly reminded of her skill. His eyes narrowed in somber suspicion, regarding her sharply.
"I'm one of the top five Reiki masters in the world, Kid. I know some things about the Reikai."
"Of course," he conceded.
"So what?" She hedged harshly, her voice sharp. "You've finally gotten through your ten year prison sentence then, I take it?" Her tone was all-knowing.
Something about the all-knowing nature of her voice irked him. It was just too familiar.
"Yes, that is right. But there is a problem," he replied nodding his head slowly.
"Is there? Well, spit it out, Kid: what is it?"
At the sniped tone in her voice, he looked back at her in shocked awe. For someone so respected in two of the four realms, she sure was obstinate and pushy. It was not quite how he had pictured her to be. Even though he came into their meeting not knowing what to expect, if to expect anything at all, this was the farthest from his mind.
"Well," he began calmly, humoring her by 'spitting it out.,' "I assumed that after ten years I would be able to leave and return to my former ways."
She held up a hand to silence him, waving him into silence with a listless wave. "Lemme guess, Kid," she interrupted. "You can't though, can you?"
"No." His tone was bitter, resentful. "I can hardly manifest my ki at all. I need that remedied."
"The Great Youko Kurama is having trouble tapping his own ki? That's a laugh."
"So, can you help me then?" he asked shortly, gradually becoming irritated by the woman's coarse, assuming, and readily self-important attitude.
"Helping a thief back to his ways? How would anyone profit from that?"
He growled low in his throat. The old woman was either very senile, or she enjoyed toying with him as she was. Either way, he did not appreciate it. At all.
"Alright, Kid, alright. Don't get your fur bunched up," she chuckled, noticing his waning patience level through the growl and perpetual glare he had fixed upon her. "I'll help you."
"Good." He sighed in relief. "So, what do I need to do?"
"Clear your mind. Hone your mind. And use your mind," she chanted back almost methodically, like some sort of archaic Buddhist mantra.
"Right. Now, if you could please be any more cryptic?" he barked sarcastically.
"Kid, first you have to hone your ki into an alloy. Then, you have to train your body to harness and control the alloyed ki. Finally, you have to learn to channel the alloyed energy into a source of outlet. In your case plants. Am I right?"
He nodded sagely at the explanation she had offered, as though it had all made crystal clear sense to him — damned if he would ever admit that it didn't. "Well, if that is all then, I suppose we should get to work?"
--
And with that, the two of them began the four-month, rigorous training session that would hopefully grant him control of his heretofore unattainable ki. What the next four months of his life held in store for him were: arduous hours of silent meditating; weeks of rigorous, exhausting mental training that assaulted his very reasoning; to the last, strenuous physical bit. Making good use of his Youko vitality and endurance, he persevered until the last and final day was upon them. The day of truth.
He stood at the back entrance to her dojo, surrounded by the forest before his clear-burning eyes and to his sides and the protection of a towering ramshackle pagoda behind him. He waited for his instruction, for he himself didn't know what exactly to do, or what his mentor — the old woman — expected of him in the first place.
"Remember, Kid," she cautioned. "Clear your mind; hone your mind; and use your mind."
She jumped back from his side after she had spoken, landing in the safety of the railed porch wrapping around the whole building. She crossed her arms across her chest and nodded expectantly at him, motioning for him to make his move.
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked, feeling rather foolish and looking back at her confused.
"Use your imagination, Kid!" she hollered, sounding almost as though she could not believe he had had to ask. Then, she added: "This is the final test."
He nodded in quiet understanding and turned back towards the vast forest sprawled around him. She let out a shrill whistle that cut through the air painfully, echoing through the hollows of the trees. He cringed at the sharp sound.
Within moments, several demons had rushed out of the forest's brush and lunged for him in bloodlust. He watched them advancing steadily, almost detachedly for a moment, before remembering that he was their target. As the realization struck him, he automatically he bent down seizing a piece of grass, rushing at the demons. With a flick of his wrist towards them, they fell and he stood amazed, turning instinctively to his hand; the grass-leaf had turned into a blade. He blinked.
Another few rushed him, curving their trails and coming from behind. He jumped back, narrowly avoiding one of the beast's teeth, and almost falling respectively into a wild rose bush. Without thinking, he dropped the leaf-blade and yanked a rose bloom off of the bush, waving it in front of him in what would later become an instinctive, methodic motion for him. He watched in amazement as it whirled through the air, enveloped in a streak of dim green light, and morphed into a beautifully sculpted and deadly whip that promptly ripped through his assaulters like a hot knife through butter.
After a few more minutes, the demons attacking him had been reduced to noting but piles of flesh, blood, and bone littering the patch of barren ground he stood on. He stood amid the bloodshed, a smear of blood running below his eye. He wiped away at the streak tiredly, panting and exhausted, but clearly satisfied with himself.
Genkai jumped back down to him and smiled proudly. The pride in her eyes was evident; her whole body swelled with it as she gazed upon his physically and mentally exhausted form.
"See, Kurama?" She patted him on the shoulder. "All you had to do was focus. In your haste to leave this realm you never could properly, I wager. That's all it took."
He smiled, nodding in agreement. Yes, now it was apparent that that had been the only thing stopping him. But, still it took the badgering of an old woman to make him realize that and come to grips with it. She brought him to peace, which brought out his powers, and he was grateful.
"I have come a long way since that day, Genkai," I mumble tiredly, the beginnings of a laugh in my voice. "I am no longer an impatient imp. And, I know how to focus and not be quite so rash now." I shake my head, a sigh parting my lips in tired resignation.
What can I do but accept the truth now, when it lies so plainly before my unseeing eyes?
"Thanks to you, I have become what I am today," I continue. "Or, maybe that does not warrant thanks; I do not know." A hollow sound slips from my tongue; a laugh? The beginnings of distraught realization chewing at my sanity? "But either way, I would not be this way if not for you. Thank you." My voice tapers off, scratching dully at the back of my throat, cracking in emotion.
"You alright, man?" I hear a familiar voice ask.
I nod automatically. It is such a mechanical process.
Yuusuke sits down beside me, his movements unsteady and rigid.
"I can't believe it either, man," he says, probably more to himself than to me. "She shouldn't be gone — not this soon… It just seems immoral that she'd be the one to leave us after always preaching about teamwork, ya know?" His voice trails off, fading into nothingness.
I hear his voice grow more reflective, more wrought with the pain I myself am still trying to put behind me. Part of me wishes to lash out at him; viciously lash out and tell him to stop talking — stop making me live in the present reality.
But, he continues undisturbed in his mourning, for I do not have the heart or the energy to raise my voice at him. I doubt I can bring myself to be callous given the present situation at it stands.
"I mean… like, how she always called me 'dimwit.' I don't really know what she saw in me. What she saw in any of the team." He shrugs heavily. "After all, at the beginning, we all wanted to kill each other more than our enemies. But, she managed to bring us together… She taught us so much… but she left us knowing even less… I just can't believe it."
"Neither can I," I reply dryly, standing up slowly; I have to get away from this. I do not want to have to deal with this. I cannot deal with other people's problems right now. Not when I have my own.
I cross the room stiffly; my usually fluid movements impeded by the rigidness of my muscles, and disappear into the hallway leading to the washroom. Upon entering the small, well-kept room, I close the door behind me gently, being mindful to not make more noise than necessary. I do not want to attract undue attention, now do I? Of course not. I step towards the sink and find myself gazing blankly at my reflection.
The person I see in the mirror over the sink is not at all who he should be. A haunted look has settled into the recesses of once lively, shining, viridian eyes. Pale, unscarred flesh is hideously sallow under the revealing fluorescent light. Halogens are much more flattering, I note mentally. Smooth bones protrude grotesquely from the hollows of my cheeks.
I shake my head hastily, a sudden, violent pain erupting behind my eyes, rolling through my head in a sick wave. Reflexively, to block out the sharp, jarring pain, I bite down on my lip, feeling the submissive tear of delicate tissue and taste copper. Startled by the sudden bitter tang flooding my mouth, I bring a hand to my lip. I trace my forefinger carefully along my bottom lip, wincing as it passes over the fresh laceration. I pull back abruptly, staring down at the small smear of blood adorning my fingertip.
At the sight, an idea explodes in my mind, almost as forcefully as my sudden migraine. It is an absurd notion, I admit. But perhaps it will be worth it. What can it hurt to try?
Slowly, I open the cupboard beneath the vanity mirror and rummage through the drawers. A restless urge is rippling through my muscles. Why? Unabashed curiosity? Sick anticipation? I do not know, yet the feeling is all at once overwhelming and welcoming.
Surely she must have had one somewhere.
I do not even know why I am looking for something like this, but the chance seems too right.
I have found the third option, and I will not let it surpass me this time.
I finally find one in the depth of the drawer; I pull it out, close the drawer, and shakily discard the grip portion of the object, setting it on the marble counter for a brief inspection.
The blade shimmers in an eerie sort of way in the dim lighting of the room, but it is enough to assuage my misgivings. The blade is sleek, small. The honed edge is finely toned to cut through the most difficult things, yet still managing to do it with an almost graceful ease, and sharp enough to cut through wood, glass, paper...
Perfect. I will have no problem with its next assignment then.
The feeling had greeted me pleasantly enough from the strike of Hiei's sword, I recall. Briefly, I revel at the past sensation, feeling that quick slice of metal, the seamless tearing of skin, that slow trickle of blood draining ill-begotten worries. So, perhaps a razor would grant the same relief.
It is worth trying at least, is it not?
After one last look over the object I take it into my hand, fully, gripping the dulled grip portion stripped of its protective padded cover tightly in my hand. My whole arm quivers in anticipation. I take a long moment to admire the simplicity of the lone metal sliver I clench in my hand. It is utterly and truly amazing how an object so small and weightless — so seemingly harmless, yet potentially dangerous — can do so much for a person.
Slowly, taking great pains to steady my wavering grip, I bring the blade to my arm, resting it on the fleshy under-part of my forearm, at the wrist joint. Drawing in a breath of resolve, I close my eyes and make a quick swipe across the chosen area. As the initial shock of just having done what I have wears off, I reluctantly open my eyes and peer down at my wrist, watching as, for the second time, the blood bubbles forth from the wound, dripping down my wrist steadily and undisturbed.
I was right.
Relief washes over me again like a tidal wave crashing into parched shorelines. My very spirit itself is getting lighter with each drop of blood escaping my veins. Such a rush. Such undiluted relief spreading over my form, pulsing through my veins, as though fire flowed through them.
If such a small cut can do this, what would a deeper one do for me?
There is only one way to know for sure:
Test the theory.
I lay the blade to my skin again, drawing the cool blade across my skin more slowly this time, and applying gentle pressure. I watch raptly, amazed as more blood rushes forth, now creating a steady red river trickling down my arm, and into the sink basin. It is a most enchanting display, this flow of uninterrupted crimson. And, the act is so wonderfully enticing. Truly a narcotic.
As I had anticipated, I do feel better with the prompting of a deeper, slower, more savory cut. A greater surge of relief envelops my senses as a renewed wave of adrenaline washes away at the corrosive pains that clog my arteries. Such complete relief.
As I am about to drag the blade across my skin again, I hear the door creaking open. Horrified — not afraid that I would be reprimanded for my actions, but honestly terrified of being found out and laying my intelligent, unwavering disposition to waste — I almost drop the blade, having uncharacteristically been caught off guard. I manage to shove it hurriedly into my pants' pocket as the door swings back, its weathered hinges singing a mournful tune. I turn on the sink hastily, just in time, as someone steps into the room. I run my hands methodically under the cool water rushing from the faucet, quickly washing away the river of blood that trailed from my forearm, and the subsequent evidence of my most uncharacteristic behavior.
"Kurama, are you alright?" It is Botan's voice; she sounds concerned. "You've been in here for an awfully long time; I wanted to come see if you were okay. Are you?" she asks, stepping beside me and putting a hand on my shoulder in what I take she means to be a comforting gesture.
"Yes, yes, I am alright. I just had to collect myself for a moment," I reply, turning to her and smiling wanly. But, my action is not returned.
Her eyes have flown to the sink and are focused on the collection of watery red liquid residue that has been caught in the basin. Her face goes slack, what little color she has retained, drains from her cheeks in an instant. She looks about to be sick to her stomach.
And I have noticed it too late. A careless mistake on my part.
"Blood…" she whispers, her eyes lingering on it in shock. Her voice is high, shaky. Terrified. Then, her eyes travel up to meet mine. Her gaze is imploring, searching the depths of me for any answer that does not scream the obvious and apparent. "Oh, Kurama, you didn't… Please… Please. Tell me that you didn't…"
I look away slowly averting my eyes. What am I supposed to say?
Yes, yes I did. I cut myself. I did it twice, free of will.
"No, of course I did not. Who do you take me for, Botan?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral, convincing. But even I cannot ignore the false bravado in my voice as I say it.
Neither can she.
She shakes her head and grabs my arm, hanging loosely at my side, and stares disbelievingly at it. Her fingers clench around my forearm and I wince as she puts pressure against the fresh lacerations. Her arm is shaking; I feel her sway, as though faint. When I am able to bring myself to look her in the face, I see unshed tears welling in her amethyst eyes at what she sees.
"Kurama…" she chokes out, her voice almost incomprehensible. "You… did…"
"Botan, let me explain before you are quick to accuse, and jump to false conclusions," I begin quickly. But my tone is too loud. My words too abrupt. The frantic-nature of the phrase strikes me all too viciously about the face.
How utterly and pathetically human.
Have I truly, truly been reduced to such a desperate entity?
She shakes her head and gives me a false smile, the corners of her lips quivering. "No, don't worry. I understand. Y-you don't need to explain anything. Really. It's okay… I-I really understand. I'll just go now…" She stumbles haphazardly over the words as they spring from her lips.
Bravo. I really did it this time. How can I get out of it now? I have no right to deny it. There is a first-hand witness to my sin.
With a last fleeting, pained look at me, she hurries from the room leaving me to my peace. A strangled sob follows her wake, echoing morbidly down the hall.
A sign of how things are to be, perhaps?
I sigh; this already had turned to the worst.
Well, there is no reason to turn then, is there?
I pull the small blade from my sheltered pocket, gracing it with a longing smile, and drag it once again across my skin, deliberately slow and deep. Then, I retrace the blade's path again and again, pushing further into the fundamental boundaries set in flesh that should not be tried with each new swipe, until I find myself satisfied and appeased. The stream of blood coming from the wound is steady now, and is readily pooling in the washbasin. After a couple minutes I sigh and run my arms beneath the water savoring even the pain of the jet of water poring on my arm. But when I am finished, this time, I am careful to remove all of the residue from the basin. I rinse my wrist and place my other hand over it.
For once, my sufficient skills in Spirit healing will come as some use to me.
I concentrate my aura on the wound and its healing. Once it has been ably seen to, I put the blade back into its drawer and I leave the room, preparing for the worst-case scenario that will surely be awaiting me. After all: such is my luck.
\
Surprisingly enough, as I pull myself back into the main chamber, no one even looks at me.
Curious. I would have surely thought that Botan would have said something.
Apparently not.
Curious, my mind burning with questions, I return to the wall I had occupied prior to my leaving, and settle in until everyone else decides to leave. Only then will I join them and take my leave.
In the time we each sit quietly waiting, absorbed in our own separate little worlds, I notice that Botan periodically catches my eyes and watches me until I turn away, or else someone comes to occupy either of us.
I would like to say that her looks do not unsettle me. But, the truth is that they do.
Finally, the hours draw to a close and everyone gets up, ready to make their ways home after a long, sorrowful day. I join the tow at the door, and as I step out Botan hurries by me. I feel a rough object brush against my arm as she passes, and see a lone piece of paper flutter to the floor.
Bewildered by the paper, I hardly hear her as she whispers: "Why?" I try to ignore the word, but I hear the tears in the sentiment, and it rips at my heart most profoundly.
Intrigued, I remain behind a moment longer, waiting for everyone to pass me by. Then, I kneel down swiftly and retrieved the, now slightly tattered, piece of paper. Not wanting to open it here, I shove it into my pocket for safekeeping and make my way back to the house.
Throughout the return trip, Botan's words keep repeating themselves in my head. I cannot shake her voice, and cannot wash the sound of her tears from my conscience.
"Why? Why? Why?"
I do not know.
Why indeed.