Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Prisoner of War ❯ The Ribbon ( Chapter 21 )

Wow. It's been a while. I finally got this chapter out though. I think this is one of the most artistic prose pieces I've ever written. Especially the second part. Well, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

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Ice blue or periwinkle. He couldn't decide if it was the color of the bluest sky or of tears in the moonlight. He traced his finger across the silk. He knew the feeling of it under his hands better than he knew himself. It was one of the only things left in his life that he could be absolutely sure of. There was almost nothing else. Was he still a murderer even though he did not kill, only incapacitated so others could destroy in his wake? Was he still in love or just clinging to an illusion? Who was he really? A man? A tool or toy? Maybe an empty shell like she had been the last time he saw her? Was she still alive? Was he still alive? Was the ribbon lying on the ground before him like her body once did ice blue or periwinkle? He picked the small piece of fabric up and pressed it to his face. He inhaled deeply. It had lost its cherry blossom scent long ago and truly should have smelled of his blood; it had been spilt on it so many times. But every drop had been carefully cleaned off in the river. He would be disgusting, dirty, bleeding, sitting by the river scrubbing the silk. Kenshin carefully tied the ribbon around his right arm just above his elbow. He pulled down the sleeves of his dark blue gi and adjusted the band that held his hair high and tight on his head. He rose slowly, reverse bladed sword and dagger at his side. He breathed in slowly, filling his belly, chest, throat. He let it out in one even breath. There was no sound, but his lips mouthed her name.

He walked slowly down the main street and watched people pass him by. He was invisible to them as they walked without giving him a second glance. In any other place, a man armed and obviously skilled as he was would be feared and respected regardless of his loyalties. But in Kyoto, Battousai the Manslayer, a man who was known as the best killing slave ever was a slave none the less. When someone slammed into him, he was the one who was berated. He moved like a ghost among them with soft feet and fluid motion. Occasionally, someone would stop him, take him into an alley, fondle him, and then return to their denial of his existence. He was like an old painting, dusty and forgotten but for fleeting moments of admiration. He made his way toward his camp, his prison without bars. The sun beat down on him, and he felt heavy. As he continued, he became more and more aware of each deliberate step. Right, left, right, left. One foot in front of the other. He felt like he was always moving but never getting anywhere.

He stopped suddenly as a small pink ball rolling against his foot broke his steady stride. He looked up to see two little girls, one with pigtails, the other with long brown hair, and a young boy running toward him.

"Give me my ball!" The pigtailed girl reached out her arms expectantly. He returned the toy and turned to continue his trek.

"Hey! Hey slave!" He looked back to see the boy standing with his hands on his hips, a shinai strapped to his back. He pointed expectantly at his feet. Kenshin fell to his knees and pressed his forehead into the red earth. As he bowed low to the boy, he could feel the ends of the ribbon brushing against his forearm.

"Rise, slave. I need you to watch these girls. I have to practice." Kenshin stood and obediently followed the three children, head down, bangs obscuring his face.

The young boy swung his wooden sword around as Kenshin sat and entertained the little girls. He caught the pink ball. Swish. The sword whipped through the air. He rolled the toy toward the girls. Swish. From the corner of his eyes, he watched the boy intently. His form was wrong. He left himself open from behind and on the left side. All he had to do was sneak around. Swish. And strike, hard and fast. Swish. The boy wouldn't last long in battle. Swish. Kenshin whipped his head suddenly as the older girl with loose hair placed her hand in his. Her five-year-old fingers looked so small against his palm. He stroked her hand with his thumb. He wondered if the life he had felt inside Misao had hands as small. He admired the softness of them, the tiny fingernails. Swish. Her child's hands were probably bigger, tougher. It had been so long. He looked up into the girl's big brown eyes. She giggled at him.

"Your eyes are pretty. Suzume! Look at his eyes!" The pig tailed girl bounded over and came very close to his face.

"Pretty purple! Pretty purple!" They danced around him in a circle.

"Pretty purple! Pretty purple!" The ball rolled away across the grass, forgotten. Swish.

"Hey, slave man, why don't you smile?" Kenshin looked at the little girls. The sun was beginning to set. The sky was tinged with pink and orange. Swish. He looked at the boy. He was still leaving his left side open. His head bowed to his knees, and he clutched them into his chest. Swish. The girls chased after the newly remembered ball. Their laughter rang in his ears. He didn't want to hear it.

"Young master." Swish. He lifted his head from his knees and called again.

"Young master." Swish. The girls returned to him. He stood and brushed by them.

"Young master!" As the wooden sword came down, Kenshin caught it before it could make that noise again. He stood gripping it tightly to the boy's left side. Behind him, the girls giggled. Kenshin cringed. That sound tore him up inside. The young boy glared at him, and he released the sword.

"Young master, I must return to the camp. Tomorrow we take Edo. We have been fighting all this time for this coming moment. It is very important that I be ready."

"What do you think I've been practicing for?" He turned, gathered up the laughing girls, the pink ball, and made his way away from Kenshin who was invisible once more.

As Kenshin made his way down the street, he watched red dust come up and curl about his feet like serpents. As the light waned, he stopped and faced west. The sun was no longer heavy on his back, and he stared as the last red streaks died on the horizon. He could feel his own weight again, light and empty. He had compared her to the sun many times. She was his light, keeping him grounded, full with her warmth. It hurt every night when the darkness came over the earth. He knew where she was. A cool breeze ruffled his clothes and his tightly bound hair. He knew she was the sun in somebody else's sky. Always keeping away the cold night. He dropped to his hands and knees in the dust. It swirled outward like a wave. The moon was full above him. His body shook, and he ground became wet with the evidence of his sorrow.

"Why?" His voice was loud and shaky. He threw his head into the air. His hair flew back, and he bellowed into the night.

"Why can't it be mine?" The ribbon loosened and fell from his sleeve. Periwinkle. It was definitely the color of tears in the moonlight.

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A/N: Haha! Stole the last piece of dialog right from Pearl Jam's "Black." Well, how did this chapter feel? I wanted to make it a peaceful, sorrowful feeling. Did you like the sound interjections (swish)? Did it help to break up that part and pull you into the imagery? In case you didn't get it by my subtle reference, Kenshin has been back in Kyoto for over five years. There is still quite a bit more so don't fret. Please check out my book of poetry, "Unwavering From A Candle." No one has reviewed it yet. Pout. Oh well, please review this chapter.