Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Red Poppies ❯ The CIty ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of RK, but I do own this story and its plot/contents. If you want to archive this on your site, please let me know through an email or IM.

Note: I will not accept any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference between flames and criticisms so I don't have to explain it. Here are some reason why I don't accept flames: 1) they generally include an attack on the author's character without regard to previous or future works that may or may not be in the same vein, 2) not only are they childish, but they make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material contained herein, 3) flames help neither the author nor the flamer to improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, 4) if something is so offensive as to elicit the impulse to flame then it is better forgotten and not dwelled upon, 5) you waste time writing it and I waste time reading and then deleting it, 6) it won't do you any good to point out my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don't I care, but I won't listen.

In short, review, but no flames. I'd love to hear your opinions, but I do not want to be unnecessarily insulted. If you don't like it, please leave.

Much Love,

S-girl

~ Red Poppies ~

Click

"I'm in love with a man who doesn't know."

"Have you told him?"

"I can't. He…I can't reach him no matter how hard I try."

"Why not?"

"He was married before…"

"What happened?"

"She died…in an accident. But he loved-loves-her. She'll always be there between us. He feels guilty about her death. He blames himself, but she…She was so much more than me."

"Why do you say that?"

"She was everything I'm not. She was graceful, poised, demure, feminine…breathtaking. He still knows what she smelled like. He still remembers! White plums…I hate them now."

"Why do you feel antagonized by a dead woman?"

"Because she's in his mind and heart. There's no room in him for me. I feel like he's always unconsciously comparing us, and I'm always coming up short."

"Has he said or hinted that?"

"No, he's always polite and self-effacing. But I know. She's there, always there. If only…God, why did it have to be him? There are so many other men in this world, but there he is…He's older than me too."

"Really?"

"He's older than me by a lot. Maybe I'm too young for him. He probably likes older, more mature women, like his dead wife."

"Have you been attracted to older men in the past?"

"Are you trying to relate this to my dad?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Just because he died when I was young doesn't mean I'm seeking some sort of paternal guidance."

"I never said that."

"But you were thinking that!"

"Please calm down."

"I'm not."

"Let's change the subject. Have you had any dreams lately?"

"No…sort of. I had one. I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"It was weird and it scared me."

"It might help to talk about it."

"I don't want to think about it."

"That's fine. We'll talk about it next time."

Click

~

Click

"Are you ready to talk about your dream today?"

"I guess…I can't really remember it now…"

"Just tell me what you do remember."

"I…I was in a field of flowers, red poppies, and I was laying on my back looking at the poppies around me."

"Go on."

"The poppies were sort of swaying like there was a breeze or something, but I couldn't feel it. And they were bleeding…"

"Bleeding?"

"I know flowers don't bleed, at least not red blood, but these did. Blood kept dripping down their petals, and I knew that's why they were red."

"How did you know that."

"I don't know, I just felt that, sensed it."

"Anything else?"

"There was something else there, something dark. I…I…It was scary. I don't want to think about it."

"Did this darkness do anything?"

"Yes. No. I don't…It shined. It shined like…like…That!"

"So it was metal?"

"Yes. It was cold and dark and it shined like metal. And I found myself above the field and not above the field."

"How?"

"I saw my…my body laying on my-its-back staring up at me and I was staring down at it. It was like my mind had floated free and was just sort of hovering there."

"Like an out of body experience?"

"Exactly! And I floated there all confused for a while, then the dark moved and shined and…and…the poppies were white."

"White?"

"Pure white, like fresh snow or bleached paper. But some weren't…I remember some were still red and bleeding. And my body was face down."

"How did it get that way?"

"I don't know, but that's what I remember…"

"Is that all you remember?"

"There was something else…something about the poppies and my body…I don't remember! I don't remember!"

"That's alright, maybe you will by next session."

"Okay."

Click

~

Click

"I drew a picture."

"Really?"

"I remembered that thing about the poppies."

"And you drew it?"

"The poppies, the red ones, were arranged in a pattern. I drew it. See."

"That's quite good. You did this from just your memory?"

"I didn't look in any books."

"I believe you."

"Have you seen it before?"

"I don't believe so, but then, of course, I'm not well versed in sigils and patterns from around the world."

"Oh."

"So the poppies were in this design. What about your body?"

"My body?"

"You mentioned something about it last visit."

"It was in the middle of the pattern, but the pattern went over it. It continued."

"So you were covered in poppies?"

"It, and no. The pattern wasn't poppies on the body. The dark carved the pattern into it, and it poured blood, like rivers or streams, just gushing, but not overflowing. There was the blood and the flesh and the carvings. And it was there, shining. And the poppies were moving and bleeding…and…and…and…"

Click

* * *

"I'm going to the living room." He couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear her gentle voice. Cool fingers brushed his forehead. "The children are already there. We'll be waiting." He had to tell her no. She couldn't go there. If she did…

~

He stood before the small house. Each window stared at him like a giant black eye, lifeless, dead. No lights…why hadn't she turned on the lights?

"Tokio?" The door opened, swinging back upon silent hinges. Darkness opened its mouth.

~

The children…Red…

"Tokio!"

* * *

With deliberate care the young woman closed the oaken door. She paused, hand on handle, and listened to the sound of papers rustling and the silver tape recorder being rewound. A phone rang with shrill urgency and soon a soft baritone rumbled through the door. Kamiya Kaoru stepped away and walked briskly down the undecorated hallway. She cast a glance at her watch out of habit for there was no place she had to be, and likely there never would be. Having a mild case of insanity tended to clear one's social calendar rather quickly. Absently she fingered the pale line running along the underside of her right arm. Therapy was helping some, but not enough.

* * *

"The City has over one thousands inhabitants. It's completely self-sufficient. If we went to war and lost, it would probably still be standing. However, very few residents ever leave the outermost perimeter. The vast majority of the population has some mental disorder of some sort. The most severe are kept in the center while the others, who have depression and other less serious diseases, are allowed to work and recreate within the borders. There is a permanent, mentally stable staff of about three hundred plus who run and maintain the city and its inhabitants. We also have a fully functional police and fire department, as well as first rate educational program, which includes preschool to college level classes.

"All of the residents marked as patients are required to attend three therapy sessions a week. Those who don't are placed under twenty-four-hour surveillance for a week, unless he or she has a justified cause such as sickness. There have never been any successful attempts by any of the patients, and only a few have tried. A high percentage of the population has voluntarily come to live here because they couldn't function normally in the outside world.

"Here the concern is about mental and physical well fare. The City doesn't coddle its inhabitants, but it doesn't reject them either. All in all, it is a true haven for the mentally ill."

* * *

A black BMW drove down peaceful streets lined with vaguely similar houses and willows with artistically drooping branches. A few residents watched it go by with interest, as cars were a rarity in the City. It soon passed the houses and entered the heart of the city-state. Skyscrapers pierced the sky and thick blocks of apartments shouldered in on either side. Neon signs flickered cheerfully against a gray backdrop of buildings. The car pulled to a screeching halt before a building that seemed to be made entirely of tinted glass. The driver's side door opened and a man dressed in a charcoal gray suit stepped out. He entered the building without a glance to either side. Saitou Hajime was there on business.

~

A bored secretary glanced up from the tedium of typing and gave the stranger a mildly interested glance. The man's amber eyes took note of the 'no smoking' sign displayed prominently on the counter before her. His mouth curved upward in cold amusement before he calmly pulled one white cylinder from a gold plated case. Watching the woman's brows knit in blatant irritation, he lit the cigarette. The woman cleared her throat loudly and gazed pointedly at the sign.

"Excuse me, sir," she said with ill-concealed animosity, "This building is non-smoking only. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"The director asked me to come here."

"That doesn't matter, sir. It is against company policy to allow anybody to smoke in this facility. Please either extinguish that cigarette or leave." He took a long drag and expelled the smoky air towards the ceiling with a thoughtful sigh. With a slight nod he walked towards the elevator.

"Tell the director that Saitou Hajime is coming to see him." The man pressed the up button and waited patiently for the elevator to come. The secretary struggled to move around the expansive desk in order to stop him. With a cheerful ding the doors slid open.

"You can't-" The doors closed. "Dammit."

* * *

Please review with any questions or comments, but I would be most appreciative if you reigned in your urge to flame me into oblivion. This story can be linked to most satirical writings such as "The Handmaid's Tale" and "Fahrenheit 451", though its quality is far below those of the professional writers. The setting is on a slightly skewed earth about this time period, maybe a decade or so in the future.