The coo of a mourning dove and the scent of spring filled the warm air as pink petals fell gently into a small pond rippling in the stillness. A hand swipes up the petal, tossing it into a basket full of other trinkets and flowers. The boy squats to observe a frog, enjoying his time in the sunlight. The dove coos again, filling the boy with an uncontrollable feeling of glee as if his insides had suddenly shuddered at the thought of containing any more positive energy. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face, today was a great day, just like yesterday and all those before that. He half ran, half skipped with his full basket back into the small village at the base of the hill he'd been exploring. Humming to himself in between his conversation with the doves, the boy's bright blue eyes softened everyone who passed. In a town where nothing seemed to ever fall in your favor, these blue circles of joy made you forget all your toils for even just a moment. The boy skipped all the way to a hut near the middle of the common square, passing a well and sticks of bamboo he often referred to as his sword. He softened his pace as he entered the hut, trying to slow his breathing down to a whisper. He snuck into the hut to find a woman, middle-aged and softly rocking in a chair weaving what looked to be a temari ball. With his basket full of multicolored petals, the boy jumped out, tossing all the petals over the woman's head. Startled, the woman cried out but quickly turned to laughter as she saw her son's face.
"Takeshi you nearly made my soul leave my body, and I was almost done with the temari," she said in a sweet playful tone.
"Mom, I saw all these pretty pink petals and they reminded me of you! They look like your face when you smile!" Takeshi exclaimed, his blue eyes seemingly glowing in the dim light.
The woman held back a tear, how could she have birthed such a pure soul? The child has never met a stranger, he never gets tired of giving gifts and making others smile. You couldn't extinguish the life in his eyes with a thousand seas, though the fire of his soul burned brighter than a wildfire.
Today, on a dreary day with thick snowfall and bitter cold, Takeshi found himself watching as the flakes fell and landed on the nearby buildings. He was much older now, well into his teenage years but no less young at heart. His smile never aged, and the townsfolk always wondered how in the hell someone's facial muscles could be taught all day and never get tired. To this Takeshi just laughed.
"My father always told me I could even convince the devil to smile!" he would exclaim proudly.
Takeshi and his parents lived in the quiet town of Jiaojiang, a humble civilization of mostly carpenters and traveling merchants. His father Tsuchida left every so often to sell his wife Tamura's woven goods. Takeshi always sent him off in the same way, from the day he could speak to the present.
"Love you, Father! Don't let the bugs bite and don't touch any weird hairy vines! Bring me back some Dorayaki!"
Dorayaki was one of Takeshi's favorite desserts, though it may have solely been because his father always brought it back from the big city when he returned from his travels. Tamura was a skilled seamstress, weaving all sorts of wares from baskets to clothing. Though the one thing that she loved making more than anything was temari balls. She did not care for the balls themselves, but rather what they signified. Every year, on his birthday, she would weave Takeshi a temari ball with a new pattern and a new bell. His surprise and excitement never wavered for the 15 years he'd been receiving them. Because they barely made ends meet, this was one of the few gifts that Takeshi received throughout the year, but he was blessed with the ability to find beauty and enjoyment in something as dull as a stone.
On this day, a blue and gold temari flew through the air, slowly making its way to the market. The process by which Takeshi chose which temari to use was long and involved making sure that each ball got equal playing time. He hated getting rid of things, as evidenced by his worn-out kimono and torn socks that he wore every day despite their appearance. He followed his mother to the market, they needed firewood to make it through these next few cold days.
"Your father's letter said that Kyoto has 2 feet of snow, Takeshi," Tamura explained while guiding both herself and her clueless son enamored by his temari ball.
"Really? That's amazing, hopefully, he makes a fire like we are going to!" He exclaimed, tossing the ball high into the air and grabbing it tightly with both gloved hands.
Takeshi was told to wait in the main square, which he was content with because it gave him plenty of room to play and catch snowflakes. Although on his next toss, the temari did not come down. A man, his face hardened by sorrow and his hands calloused from years of rigorous labor snagged the ball out of midair. Takeshi was startled, but keeping a smile on his face, he looked up at the man with understanding.
"Isn't it neat? My mother makes them, she always picks such unique colors don't you think?" he asked the man, admiring the ball even in the gruff hands of the stranger.
"You're pathetic, how old are you now? Still playing with toys and worthless pieces of garbage while the rest of us work our tails off just to survive! Look at you, I'm surprised you don't frolic with butterflies and paint your toenails while you're at it, you make me sick," the man gashed Takeshi.
The insult bounced off Takeshi as easily as the snowflakes.
"Well, I do really like butterflies, sir! My favorites are the purple ones, but they only come out when you hear the mourning doves in spring. And my toenails would look so cool if they were blue, thank you for the idea!" He responded loudly.
The man gritted his teeth and grabbed Takeshi by the kimono, startling him and causing tears to well in his eyes.
"It's a shame you were even born boy," he spat, "If you were my son I'd have drowned you in the river. Men are supposed to be useful and strong, do you see anyone else picking flower petals and kicking temari balls around? You're a waste of space, and you should take my recommendation and just die a peaceful death now while you still can. If I see you around one more time with that damn ball, I'll do it myself. Do you hear me, boy?"
Takeshi was in a state of shock, a sheltered child from birth, he had never been spoken to in this way. He could not stop the tears, and for the first time, he could not smile. He turned his head away from the man, and hung limp in his arms, trying not to cry very loudly so others might not see.
"15 years old and crying like an infant, why am I surprised? Freak. Probably still wet the bed too, does your mom still feed you like a-," The man's insult was cut off as he began to raise his hand to strike Takeshi.
A force of surprising speed and strength grabbed the man's hand, surprising both him and Takeshi. A man with long platinum hair and fiery bright eyes was gripping the man's arm as tight as a bear trap. The man looked stunned but quickly came to his senses.
"Hey old timer I don't know who the hell you think you are but I advise you to step back before I make an example out of you next," the man snarled.
It was then that Takeshi noticed the glint of a katana on the old man's hip, at the ready. Expecting to see terror or anger, he looked at the old man's face but met only a stone-cold expression.
"Let the boy go, and give him his ball back. You have no right to be disciplining him," the old man said in a hushed tone.
The man dropped Takeshi violently and with impressive strength, took the temari in both hands and ripped it in half. The bell fell to the ground with a sad jingle as Takeshi watched it fall in despair. He stifled a cry, the blue and gold one had been a gift for his third birthday, his mother always said the color matched his eyes.
With that, a blur of clothing and mass whirled in front of Takeshi so fast that he could not comprehend what had happened. The crowd that had started to gather seemed just as shocked, as an audible cry echoed. When the dust and snow settled, the old man had the stranger on the ground, twisting his arm in a way that was in no way natural human motion.
"What are you doing?! You're going to break my arm!" he exclaimed in obvious pain.
"That would be fair now wouldn't it?" the old man snickered, tightening his grip. "The temari is in pieces, even after I told you to unhand it. So why should I listen to your demands? Maybe you should be in pieces too."
All this commotion had caused Tamura to hurry back to see what was the matter, and she was taken aback to see Takeshi in tears lying in the snow next to his ripped temari. He clutched the ribbons as if he could magically reassemble them and play once again. She dropped the firewood and rushed to him, crying with him and demanding he tells her what happened. He just buried his head in her chest and wished he could disappear. A grotesque snapping sound echoed through the air followed by a blood-curdling scream. The old man dusted his hands off and knelt next to the mother and son.
"Your son is safe now, though the same cannot be said about his toy to which I am sorry. Please, let me treat you both to some tea while I explain myself," he said in a gentle tone, greatly contrasting the violence that had just occurred.