Bishojo

((((((Hello there, this piece of writing is sharply related to haiku and tanka, both forms of Japanese poetry. This puts a considerable amount of focus on nature and how it reflects with emotion that most people fail to see. It may seem chopped, or stalled, but that is to add the lingering and slow pace of haiku to my work, thank you.)))))


PROLOGUE:
I recall it being early autumn; the time when the grass first fades and the

waters slow. I stood near the forest at dusk, I was taken by contemplation. When

everything you’ve know changes so swiftly, to what do you refer for understanding?

When you’ve been lied to for ages, to whom do you turn for comfort? Questions

were coming faster than I could answer and hopelessness too abundant to

overcome. I had not sleept in days and abandoning the questions for another place

and time seemed all too pleasing so I lost myself in the scenery. There was a small

stream a short distance behind myself and the wood to my left. The view to the

north was blessed with serenity. The pastel of the sunset spread its grace across

the vast sky beckoning for me with warmth; too bad my path was south. The skies

there were not so welcoming. A storm came fast, dark and cold. The grimace of the

clouds illustrated hatred upon the earth below. I headed back for my home… my

once home. A gust came and cut through the tall grass and nipped at my face. The

dampness upon my cheeks caught the cold hard. The silence sharply broken by

thunder and birds fled. The storm bore the tranquility of war forcing everything away.

The sky above appeared to be occupied by the hell that supposedly lay below.

I crossed the small bridge leading to the village and caught a glimpse of

myself in the water; though at the time it appeared to be anything but myself. The

man posing as my father once said “Young child, you are your past and your will.

Never let either fold,” The irony sharp as a blade. But when one is pulled from under

you the other no longer matters. Who was I at that point in time? Pointlessness

and inevitability plagued me; many answers were lingering around me bragging and

teasing for they were just out of my reach.

Just on the other side of the bridge lay wildflowers in memorial of a lost

child. He would soon be forgotten. As was the destiny of everyone in that village, to

be forgotten and only represent what life did exist here. I wasn’t going to let myself

fall with the rest of them; I would accept my invitation to Edo and forget Shikage

like everyone else in the new era.

I’d been putting it off for a long while. Months. Maybe too long. Nonetheless

everything would be explained tonight. The thought of a new life was pleasing, a

clean start, but I knew it wouldn’t be so simple. Nothing is ever so simple.


I stopped and picked one of those flowers. It was white speckled with red; purity

speckled with malevolence. Soon I would be thought of the same way.

I came in through the back; no one was to know of my meeting. I slipped

through the hall and bumped into the mistress, she was a good friend of mine. She

arranged to have hot sake brought to my room every twenty minutes. I went to my

reserved room.

It was lit by several small lanterns mounted on the walls and placed on

tables. There was a dark essence in the room; it was both peaceful and unsettling.

The deep navy decor laced from the walls that matched the pillows placed before a

small table upon a platform. There was a large door decorated highly that lead to an

outside garden, the door was closed, further encouraging privacy.

I took my place before the small table; there was already a cup of sake

waiting for me, the steam and flickering lights were the only other movement in the

room. The aroma lifted and met me as a warm reminder of comfort, comfort being a

luxury that was all too scarce in the recent days. I was immediately warmed as I

drank it down and waited. A young girl came to bring me more. I drank that too. I

could hear the rain, it sounded patient, and calming. Rain cleanses the earth like

nothing else, it brings life. I counted time by the amount of sake brought. The higher

the number got the less I worried, although I knew my odds were shrinking with

time. Six cups and two hours later, I knew he wasn’t coming. I had no home at that

time, the sake kept my mind clear throughout the night. Was that letter revoked,

was there a mix up and he couldn’t make it tonight, or was this all a joke to toy

with me one more time? That was one question too many. I drank until the pit-pat of

the rain became a quiet lullaby.

I awoke to the sound of knocking on a western door. Rappid, frantic, paniced

even. I hesitated, woried. It turned into a pounding. the door was not locked, wat

this a joke? The pounding became thunderous; causeing the door to shake

violently. It stopped suddenly... Blood ran under the door.

I sat up, the dream recurring; turning sleep from a safe hideout to a

dreamworld in which blood was thick on my hands. Death fallowed me and picked

off those who i encounter. It was taunting, it didnt want me dead, but it wanted me

to know i could still die. I was in a western style room, with a bed and chest of

drawers. Nothing else. The scattered sheets gave hint of a restless night. My

memory abandoned me. the smell or rust and alcahol was enough to shake me

firmly to reality. I fumbled for my clothes and left, finding myself near Hedeike road.

Finding my way back to the teahouse from here would be an easy task.



************(continuing tommarrow)****************