Title: Mother
Author: Kodoku no Ookami
Rating: PG-13
Summary: oneshot Hao remembers his mother
Disclaimer: I do not own Shaman King or the song
Warnings: Angst? And it's a bit confusing. Be wary of tenses.
Other than that, enjoy
Mother.
Mother had always been there, taking his hand with a bright smile as she led him down to the garden they had planted in their backyard. With his hair swinging in a high ponytail and his little sandals clip clopping on the dirt path, Hao would return a cheerful grin of his own.
"Oh, my pretty mother's home, sweeter than the honey in the comb." Mother would sing, and little Hao would join in with his undeveloped voice, "Come, come, pretty love, come, come, come. Come, come, pretty love, I want some."
And together, they'd walk hand-in-hand, with Hao skipping in excitement, down to their little garden.
She was a beautiful woman, Hao remembers with a smile. With long, shimmering blond hair that rivaled the length of his own grown one and gentle eyes, Mother always stood tall with her head held high. She always wore warmly colored yukatas with flower or butterfly patterns that loosely fit her fragile figure.
Hao still cries today as he remembers Mother.
But Mother was dead. It was a thousand years ago Hao had killed her. It was a thousand years ago that he had soaked his hands in her blood.
Sometimes, Hao lies awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling and thinks about Mother, how she spoke, how she laughed. Hao lies in bed and thinks about the anguished look of terror on her face when he killed her.
"Mama!" he cries, but there is no one there. All his gloved hands grasp is air.
Tears fill up his eyes, and he weeps.
"Oh my pretty mother's home, sweeter than the honey in the comb."
On summer days, Hao likes to eat fruits to prevent dehydration. They were sweet and juicy at the same time, making an ideal snack. Today, his follower offers him a bowl of fresh-picked strawberries. As he carefully selects a piece, Hao remembers how Mother grew strawberries in their garden. She grew them with pride, and no matter how much damage the crop had gone through, they were always perfect.
He bites into the raw flesh of the fruit and the bittersweet flavor sinks into his tongue as he chews. The sweet juice dribbles down his bare fingers and he licks them clean.
With one swift movement, the bowl is knocked onto the ground and it breaks into little jagged pieces. The fruit that is in it shatters and the meat is bruised and bloody.
"H-Hao-sama." his follower stammers, but he pays no attention.
"Come, come, pretty love, come, come, come. Come, come, pretty love, I want some."
There comes a day, Hao visits his old home.
He is still young in this third life, bearing the appearance as an Asakura, as he was one so many years ago. But he knows so much more than the average intelligent adult already.
The house is the same way he left it a thousand years ago. It is small and ancient and it creaks in the summer breeze. Flowers still blossom and bloom in the front yard and it makes him smile just looking at them.
The familiar fragrance of the country stings his nose as Hao walks down the worn dirt path to the withered garden in the backyard.
Weeds now fill the previous garden beds that used to develop sweet strawberries. The trees that used stand tall and proud now bends over, its branches touching the dry grass, and rots. Hao grins as he remembers the happy memories the garden holds.
He stops before a fading tombstone and stares down upon it with warm eyes. This was Mother's grave, overgrown with dead plants and dry earth. Hao remembers that this was the exact place Mother had died.
"Mama…"
Her cheerful smiles flash before his eyes and her laughs fill his ears and Hao's cocky grin grows wider as he remembers. Soon, the laughter is replaced with a dying scream and the mangled body of his dead mother he sees with nostalgic eyes.
Hao turns and walks away from the grave. Turning around to face the house, he is still smiling and his earrings clink as the summer breeze caresses his hair. Mother always loved this place, said it was peaceful and quiet. And Hao loves it because Mother did.
"Burn." he whispers and the entire place goes up in flames.
A/N: Why Hao killed his mom, I dunno. This came to me when I was reading the 24th book, there was a page of a woman holding onto around 4-year-old Hao's hand. And on the next page, it was the current Hao saying "Mama!" (or so he said in Chinese. Yeah, I have it in Chinese) with tears running down his face.
You know, the first time I looked at Hao's mom, I thought she looked remarkably like Anna except with a lot longer hair.