Little Boy, a rurouni kenshin fanfic

Little Boy

A work of Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction.

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The sky glows reddish-purple, as the sun waits behind the horizon to open the day. It is absolutely clear, without clouds or other blemishes; I can see the stars slowly fade into the glow. The summer wind is warm, but not unusually so; I take a breath of salty sea air, its energy giving me the strength to walk outside.

Already, the sounds of practice fill my ears, as hearty cries accompany the strike of bamboo against bamboo. My children and grandchildren test their skills in the morning, before handing those skills to others. Some of our students will use their skills for honor; others have shown less wisdom, and use the school to kill. It is a simple, almost naive existence, teaching people such as these; however, it is the only one we know.

My old bones move to the door of the dojo, and sit down at the edge. It fills me with pride to know that the Myojin Kasshin Ryuu still thrives to this day. It is a rock in a typhoon, an assurance that, no matter how mad the world has become, the idea of conflict without murder still survives. They are my children, my family, and I am proud of every one. I see the idle shinai there in the containers, and wish for a moment that the people who wield them would come home. There has been too much death in this family - too many victims, too much crying.

We are warriors; we are not immune, no matter how much we may wish otherwise. Wrinkles have hidden the many scars from my troubled youth. My grandson, at the far end of the dojo, wields his shinai with one hand; the other was left on Okinawa. His older brother, sparring opposite, is not physically harmed, but holds scars no less real: he was at Nanking when it was taken, and only his eyes speak of what he saw. Considering the rumors, I almost wish he never speaks. The world has touched us, whether we wish it or not, yet we go on.

That world, unfortunately, has gone mad. In my youth, people were slaughtered by the dozen. We fought and died as villages, as communities. Now, we die and kill as nations, by the millions. We crank out heartless, mindless soldiers for our petty ambitions, send them off to plunder other, supposedly less-deserving people, and let fat men off in Tokyo reap the rewards while we starve. No matter which way the battle turns, we lose; either our children are left on the field as casualties, or our honor disappears as we act like bandits amidst plunder.

We seek hollow valor and vengeance for imaginary wrongs - and sacrifice honor for our greed.

The war will not last much longer, I think. The bombs dropped on Tokyo are the sign of the end. Our sacred soil is not so sacred; we are not deserving of this land, and we will lose it. We thought ourselves better than the rest of the world; Germany thought the same of itself. Germany was proven wrong, and sits a hollow shell of the glory it once was. We are next; our pride has sent us to the edge, and the weight of our sins will topple us over.

Did you know this would happen, Kenshin? Could you see what the new world you created would become? The shining Meiji world you created has darkened into something sinister... a dark Showa revolution, a place where valor is mistaken for honor, and psychopaths stand in line where warriors should be. We are beaten by our own vices, and soon will face oblivion.

Much as it pains me to say, Kenshin, I long for it, now. Japan has dishonored itself far beyond repair, and I do not want to see this once-honorable land fall. You learned the lesson and lived to tell the tale; I did as well, and bear the scars from such wisdom. Our heirs, I fear, will not be so lucky. It is for them I fear, and the land they inherit from us.

The roar of a propeller high overhead grabs my attention; I have learned to be concerned for such things, as we no longer own the clouds above us. The sight is hidden from me; they attack with the rising sun, taking our pride and twisting it back on ourselves.

It is the end; I know it with a strange certainty. I look to my family, and know that the peace we have forged will be gone forever. I pray they survive, that one, at least, survives to tell the tale - as I survive from struggles long done.

Tsubame, I'm coming home. Kenshin, brother, Kaoru, sister, take care to see my self and my family safe, wherever we are destined to go. This is the end; this is the atonement.

A tear rolls down my withered cheek as sunrise comes.

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I would normally tell where this came from; however, the explanation would be as long as the work. Thanks to Andrew Norris and Kevin Hammel for their comments.

Original version written: October 31, 1999

Sent to fanfiction dot net: February 15, 2009