Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Samurai Wives ❯ Silence ( Chapter 11 )

Chapter Eleven- Silence

The inn was silent.

Kenshin no longer had a ward to take care of, and his time was no longer consumed by her protection. No longer did he fight with a mule-headed woman, and no longer did he worry himself with her safety.

But he no longer felt alive, either.

The wind touched the treetops, without making a sound. But the petals from a cherry tree fluttered depressingly to the ground. Ikumatsu and Katsura watched them silently, taking in their beauty, but Kenshin could not feel as carefree about them anymore. They symbolized death to him. No longer did the world seem beautiful.

The lack of sound pressed into his ears, throat, eyes. He was suffocating in blank silence. There was no more left for him. There was no life left in him. There was no life left in the world, either. He tried to breathe, but found that his breath made no sound, even when he sighed.

The world was bleak. Even the birds that flew around the inn and landed near the pool were silent. The wind made no noise. The people who spoke were mute.

Perhaps he, Kenshin, was just deaf.

Perhaps he had been deaf all his life to the cries of life, and when he met that same mule-headed woman, she became his ears. When she left- or when they turned away from one another- the pillow of silence had descended once again on his consciousness. Even when the market cried out nearby, or the bells of the shrine maiden clanged gently at a festival, he heard nothing.

And, in hearing nothing, Kenshin felt the warm presence of emotion fade away into blank, frozen, nothing. In losing his ears, and the sounds of life, he had lost the way to feel.

It wasn't as though he never heard anything. There were the times, when he was sent to the battlefields, where he could hear every blood curdling scream of death; where he could hear the clash of blades, and the cracking of bones, and even- so keen was his hearing of death- the sound of blood flowing from open wounds and poisoning the ground. But when he washed the blood away, cleaned his blade, and was finally able to sleep without the haunts of death crawling in his skin, the cold silence deafened him once again.

Spring melted away into the burning summer. Katsura had once told him that one should always enjoy the taste of sake. If one did not enjoy the taste, it meant that they were evil. Kenshin shuddered at the memory of the taste, but swallowed it all the same. Sake tasted like blood, but mixed with the floral scent of the silk he still carried. The mixture of the two sickened him, as though they were both his sides that should never mix. When they did, they produced a foul being that could not exist neither as a deliverer of death, or as a human being, who felt life.

Kenshin inhaled the smell of summer.

Nothing.

Cicadas buzzed from the trees. The world was green. He could smell nothing, unless it was the foul, metallic smell of blood. He tasted nothing, except the acidic taste of blood, when he ate. The world was dulled to his eyes; allowing no color to seep through, except the bright crimson of blood, and the sharp black of silence.

The revolution was ending.