Beyblade Fan Fiction ❯ Easier to Run ❯ One-Shot

Easier to Run

* * *

"Kai."

I turn my head. There's a grave look on the elder man's face; something indicating that there is some sort of problem. He tells me that someone wants to speak to me. I am, of course, confused by this, but I hide my curiosity behind crimson eyes.

"The phone's waiting for you inside the dojo."

"Thank you," I nod, heading inside, and ignoring Rei, Max, and Tyson's eyes. Kenny was busy digging his nose in his laptop.

I tilt my head to claim the cordless phone sitting on a small table at the far wall. I hold the receiver to my ear, without speaking. The man on the other end must have heard my deep breathing, because he then spoke.

"Are you Kai Hitawari?"

"You are?"

"This is Ichikawa, M.D.... I'm calling from Azuma Hospital in Okinawa."

I don't say anything, but contemplate as to why an M.D. would need to speak with me, unless....

"Kai, this is about your mother; I'm afraid...she's passed on."

* * *

It's easier to run

Replacing this pain with something numb

It's so much easier to go

Than face all this pain here all alone

* * *

My mother. Was dead. I drop the phone, half expecting it to hang off the table by its cord, and then I remember that it has no cord; so it crashes to the ground. I stare at the dojo wall, not really knowing what to do or think. I can still hear the faint buzzing that is Mr. Ichikawa's voice through the receiver on the floor. With a slightly shaking hand, I reach for the phone, and almost slam it back against the wall in its bed.

After a short while, I seem to have regained my composure, so I head back outside to finish my training with the team.

I've always known Rei to be the nosy-concerned kind of kid, and as I guessed, he asks what the phone call was about. I say nothing, but ask Tyson to battle me; I feel as though I should try and diminish this so-felt saddened anger.

The battle commences, and as it progresses, I find myself thinking more of my past, rather than what Mr. Ichikawa said just minutes earlier. A part of me is sad about my mother's death, while another is almost overwhelmed with joy.

Mrs. Hitawari was never what one would call an ideal mother. She never set examples for me, unless she was showing me that smoking, drinking, and becoming overcome with violence was what a child should do.

As far back as I can remember, which are my late toddler years, my mother had always abused me, beat me, and did everything possible to make my life a living hell. I knew I would NOT be attending her funeral.

I realized my body had begun to sway when Max Tate ran up behind me, pushing me to my feet. My head throbbed and I was becoming dizzy. I called back Dranzer, who hadn't done anything against the fight with Dragoon, and retreated to the shady porch near Kenny.

* * *

Something has been taken

From deep inside of me

A secret I've kept locked away

No one can ever see

Wounds so deep they never show

They never go away

Like moving pictures in my head

For years and years they've played

* * *

From the very beginning I knew my mother would not live long. Back when we lived in Okinawa, she had been a chain-smoker, and as I recall, had been diagnosed with lung cancer when I was eight. I guess it's surprising that she lived even as long as she did.

I told my team about the call that night; when they offered to let me cry, I turned up my nose in refusal. I told them everything, including things about my past. It surprised and confused them, but not once did they interrupt-that was a first for Tyson.

At times I'd stop, just to see if they had any input, but they always begged me to continue. It annoyed me some that they wanted to know so much, but I took the blame for even mentioning it to them.

* * *

If I could change I would

Take back the pain I would

Retrace every wrong move that I made I would

If I could

Stand up and take the blame I would

If I could take all the shame to the grave I

Would

* * *

The more I talked, the more remorse I felt for once wishing for my own mother's death. But the more remorse I felt, the more I remembered her abuse towards me. What a woman. What a mother. Would my father have...?

The question I tended to ask myself was: did I even have a father? Well, of course I did; there was no way I'd be here if I didn't have one. And I knew he had been my biological father, because I had some of his most prominent features; the ashen-colored hair, the formation of his eyes (not the color though), my small brow, all had been what my father had. The crimson eyes and navy patch of hair had been my mother's.

Many a time had I asked my mother where father was, and she always told me it was because I was a naughty little boy, and wasn't worthy to have been his son. But whenever I was told this, I never once cried. It must have been due to the way I had been raised.

"...I was raised as one might raise a sort of livestock; born without any attention from anyone, looked upon with the most hateful eyes, given food every 8-9 hours, no snacks, and no one to teach me right from wrong. My grandfather Voltaire had been nothing short of a jerk to me."

I stopped again. Kenny opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, and waited for me to continue. I sighed exasperatingly.

"When I first met Voltaire, he explained to me everything about Beyblading. I held and practiced with an amateur blade...until he gave me Dranzer. After that, I was nothing but his test subject; I battled with his new blades. When I turned 10 he told me I was too old to be playing with little tops, and sent me packing. It was mainly because I began to realize what he was doing to me, and threatened to unveil his darkest secrets to the public."

I paused again.

"I was able to do that two years ago at the World Championships in Russia...."

* * *

Sometimes I remember

The darkness of my past

Bringing back these memories

I wish I didn't have

Sometimes I think of letting go

And never looking back

And never moving forward so

There would never be a past

* * *

It was 11:03 when I looked at the clock next to the phone; my team had been asleep already a few hours. With all of Tyson's snoring and Max's fitful sleeping, it felt impossible for me to get a straight thought. Sighing, I headed for the sliding door, and began walking a little way into the woods.

This is pathetic, I thought, once far enough from the others that I could speak loudly without being overheard. "I can't keep this up anymore."

I walked a bit further into the woods, pausing as I came to a clearing. I rested my back against a giant oak, and thought about what I had told the other's earlier. Had I meant all that horrible stuff I had said? Feh, of course I did.

Kneeling in the soft dirt, I reached for a small boulder, placing it in front of a clump of bushes; it looked nice there. It was mid-Spring and beautiful native flowers were covering patches of grass next to me.

Overcome with a terrible guilt, I pulled out some Kikyou flowers and placed them besides my mother's makeshift grave. It was the best I could do for her.

* * *

Just washing it aside

All of the helplessness inside

Pretending I don't feel misplaced

Is so much simpler than change

* * *

I slept until midday; I had been sick. Sick from guilt, sick from raging sorrow, sick and tired...sick of a bad stomachache. I had thrown up twice already, and it had left me weak.

When I woke up and looked in a mirror, I thought Death had surely claimed my life as well as my late mother. My eyes were dark and sunken, my hair stuck out every-which-way, and I had a strange shaggy look about me.

I grabbed an apple and headed outside to watch my team practice with their blades. Hillary was here today. I plopped down beside Kenny and watched intently as Dizzy was replaying and earlier match between Rei and I.

"Good Morning, sleepy-head," the laptop said happily to me. I said nothing, but stared at the screen.

"Hey, Kai," Rei started. "Are you gonna go to the funeral?"

Tyson snorted. "We have preliminary matches scheduled for next week."

"I'm not going," I said. They stared at me, puzzled.

I didn't have the money to take a trip to Okinawa and back to Tokyo. I don't think I would have gone to the funeral had I had the money to make it. My mother was never truly special to me...not once in my 17 years.

Max smiled weakly. Rei understood. Tyson looked confused, as always.

"We need to get back to training. Zeo-"

I knew I didn't have to say more. Zeo had once been our friend, but he ended up being our enemy. We would beat him and find out what he was up to. Tyson would make sure of it.

As for me, it meant nothing-my mother's death. It felt like I had lost a pet that I hadn't really grown attached to. Knowing me team would be fine for the time being, I told them that I was going for a walk in the woods.

I reached the clearing where I had prepared the grave; it still looked as it had last night. I knelt down, tilting my head in silent prayer. Her soul needed praying for. When I was finished, I felt a sharp pain in my chest (the left side of my chest).

I tilted my head back towards the sky. Something inside my stirred, for I began laughing manically for no reason. At one point, I thought I had lost it. Once my little escapade was through, I fell on my hands, hot tears flooding my vision. What was wrong with me?

It felt as though I had just been possessed. Then realization hit full force.

Something I had learned while living in Okinawa was: though you may feel nothing, you are actually feeling the worst of your sadness. But once you are able to show your feeling, it may not feel pleasant. It will feel terrible. Most think it's easier to run from your problems...but in reality, you're really just creating more for yourself.

* * *

It's easier to run

Replacing this pain with something numb

It's so much easier to go

Than face all this pain here all alone.

* * *

A/N The end. It's over, forever and ever. No more Beyblade stories for me...unless of course by personal request. ^_^ The song used for this fic was Linkin Park: Easier to Run. Hope you enjoyed it...or hated it. Whatever. Just go review or somethin'.