Jin’s Overture
Disclaimer: Geneon, Manglobe, Shimoigusa Champloos,
and Shinichiro Watanabe own the rights to these characters. Shinichiro may make them dance on screen for
us, but I get to make them dance on paper for you. Please enjoy my completely gratis tale.
Jin’s Overture
I open eyes to monochronistic day. Have I slept all night in wet clothing? The heaviness of my limbs would suggest as much. The heaviness of my soul begs to reveal the
reason. For an instant, I shy from that
offer; but it is counterintuitive to my nature. Girding my psyche to handle the reason, I beg revelation.
It comes, in flashes and sounds that bounce off jagged
corners of my already fragmented soul.
Mugen’s betrayal is streaked in the crimson of his retreat. Yukimaru’s scathing judgment rips across
already raw nerves and scrapes the conscience I’ve tried hard to suppress. However, it’s the final flash that causes my
soul to fold its wings and diminish.
The scream morphs, taking on a shape and reality of its own. Everything after that is subdued in white
noise and fog.
Never before have I dreaded movement more than today. The decisions I’ve made have weighed heavy
the last few months, often causing my step to falter and my shoulders to
droop. The consequences of my actions
have never caused me to dread the state of consciousness. Today I dread consciousness. I tried to drown it in the river
yesterday. Death eluded me. Now I’m searching to find any dreaded state
that would allow me to exist in a world where one no longer walks. Today I do not want to walk in a world where
one other no longer exists.
There is no driving force to my motions, no reason to
breathe. Suddenly I see it, a small
bobbing something, unnatural in form. I
know what it is even from here, the bob indicates a straw or cork creation, the
red is that of a cloth thong. Standing,
using the sheath of my katana as leverage, I slowly walk towards the
distraction. It is my soul reason for
existing today, and it has no pressing schedules to keep. Its wearer has no future place to be. Reaching it as it bobs in the eddy, I sigh;
offering a prayer knowing a plea would be ineffective at this point.
A half-waterlogged shoe is a pathetic gift to the gods for a
soul of such beauty. Nevertheless, I
pick it up and put it in my robe, just under that organ that continues to beat
despite my protests. If I’m lucky, I’ll
find the match to further tempt the gods.
Even if I don’t, maybe the gods will show pity on a man who no longer
has a heart to mourn with.
In the space of moments in time, but referenced as ages; the
world has cloaked itself in hues of grey and drab. My brain tells my soul the sun is shining, but my soul has become
blind and is unable to see it. The water
is no longer refreshing in its clarity.
Now all it holds is a nasty surprise in the form of a bloated or mangled
corpse of a fair woman-child.
How do I see her? Is
she a woman, prancing around with childish glee at the simplest things
imaginable? Or is she a child, looking
at me through eyes that have aged years in just months? I have to stop, I’m still speaking in
present. Neither matters, she is no
more. Is denotes a possible will. Was denotes a termination. Permanent terminations mean that I must put
possible futures aside for the present past.
Wanting to howl; but knowing that would require more of me
to live than current is willing, I hold it in.
Hoping desperately that the other shoe is still attached to the wearer,
I continue the search. The rocks are
steep on both sides, mocking my plea for someone else to find the body
first. If I’m not the discoverer, than
I can pretend for a little longer.
Suddenly I hear it, a sound that opens the world. It’s like watching the sun rise over Fujiyama
after fifty days of rain. It’s the
sound of my soul’s partial redemption, and suddenly the world is sprawled with
color. I see it in smears and brush
jabs as my body instinctively reacts.
There she is, a trembling huddled form; screaming at a bakemono
on the cliff. I look but it’s a
phantom, gone in the breeze. Slowing to
a sedate walk, I struggle to catch my breath.
Now I stand only an arm’s breadth away.
It’s an in attainable distance, she could be standing on the other side
of a cliff. I struggle to overcome that
yawning gap, but her first words to me widen it. She’s more concerned with the rooster than the koi, so the koi
responds in kind.
Holding up the shoe, I watch her face soften. Suddenly she looks behind me, and I realize
she’s searching for someone. The short
dialog is unproductive to me, and the small glance at the hastily made bed does
even less to reassure my questing heart.
Girl or woman? What
was my earlier decision? She’s
definitely a woman, a conniving tempestuous beast who doesn’t know her own
heart. Why would she suddenly sleep
with a stranger when she had two more familiar options at her disposal? These thoughts fuddle my brain, and I take a
second look. This time I notice only
one indention. She obviously slept alone. Shamed by my lasciviousness, I revise my
decision, she’s still a girl only looking to fill the void of male influence.
Before I have a chance to say more, to reason through these
janus thoughts, the nightmare reappears.
The form of judge and executioner, sword in hand. He yells judgments upon me, his own
interpretations. My actions were
regrettable, but necessary. He stands
from there and tries to see the world through my eyes. He cannot.
He hasn’t walked my path, he hasn’t lived my guilt. I look into his forbidding eyes and see only
one shining truth, he’s already lost.
He was closer than a brother in my previous life, but now he
threatens my future. Ten minutes ago,
I’d have given it to him. Now life
throbs through my veins, emphasizing the wild palate of colors found in a foggy
morn. His decision to pursue me has
cemented his fate. If he succeeded
against me, she would fall as a consequence.
Ten minutes ago, she was dead. I
won’t lose her again.
