8.
Mugen doesn't remember why him and Jin fought all the time. All he could ever hear was Fuu's annoying commands to stop.
When Mugen fights Jin, he notices the jade bracelet around Jin's ankle. He notice how sharp the bone is defined, and how his ankle turns slightly out as if he injured it once long ago.
Mugen wants to pay attention to the battle. To the Pain. To right here, and right now.
But Mugen can't.
And Fuu still speaks in desperation.
"Stop!"
"Yamette!"
Mugen smirks.
And looks.
Mugen knows, understands, and thinks.
'You got it all wrong.
It's not a story about revenge and fighting.
You got it all backwards.
It's a love story'.
. . . . . .
...When Jin speaks, his voice is colder than antifreeze. The way he speaks sends chills down your spine, and you finally understand why he doesn't talk much. And, whenever he turns to focus, his glasses always send a spark of light directly into your eyes. His bangs casting shadows that swallow up his face whole. He was the incarnation of everything you feared. Of the darkness lurking behind the light.
And you realized, this man with a too sullen face, with his too thin eyes, he's everything everyone desires. Mystery, detachment, cold.
He's everything you–
. . . . . .
7.
When Jin sleeps, he doesn't really sleep.
He rests his body, and almost slips into sub consciousness, but he's never really there. Which technically means he's not really sleeping.
But when Jin does fall unconscious, all the years of not falling asleep really pile up and take their slow steady revenge.
You would almost think he's actually dead.
Of course, Jin wouldn't notice any of this. Jin would simply sleep on, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes closed softly. The indentations from the sharp scowl gone, the warm breath escaping his lips.
Mugen liked Jin unconscious.
Because only Mugen was able to see Jin this way.
And Mugen, for just a brief second, could pretend Jin was only doing this for him.
. . . . . .
(And there was once a man, whose hair was mud brown, who traveled hundreds of miles to Japan. He was loud, obnoxious, and way too smart for his own good. He spends his whole life defeating one opponent after the next, before he got side tracked with an even more obnoxious girl and his complete opposite, a very somber and cold man.
This man, who snores and eats and fights, became sidetracked on an adventure that would cost him a lifetime.)
. . . . . .
Scene: Two samurais and one girl, stand in front of an orange and red sunset. A glow in the spectrum of transitive colors from orange to red spread upon jackets and kimonos alike, giving the three people a total surreal feeling of non existence. Eventually one of the party members leaves, leaving two men about the height of 180 cm both staring directly into the sunset.
Their silhouettes intercept one and another at the head.
The two men stand basking in the sun, for what seems like eternity.
The sun eventually goes down, and the two men both leave.
. . . . . .
"Jin."
"..."
"...Idiot."
"..."
. . . . . .
6.
When Jin comes in battered and bruised, Mugen simply watches him limp over and collapse against the doorway.
Mugen wants to freak, he really, really does.
Fuu expresses her concern, her worry. But she was never really a part of this, a part of anything. And her voice was being washed away with the wind, before either one of the men could listen.
This whole journey was only made up of these two men, everything was only about these two men.
Mugen stands there, watching.
Jin slumps there, dying.
The world stops, and a moment is created. Embalmed in memories of both men.
Staring at one and another, as time slips away -
Nothing else matters between each person.
Jin falls over, and Mugen catches him.
See, step 7.
Fall, then Repeat.
. . . . . .
There were two shadows against a doorway, one on top of the other. One laid unresponsive, still as ice, while the other continues about undressing the other man. Both of the same heights, the one with the hair that was as untamable as a wild tiger, began to straighten himself up from the futon, his hand occupied with both a kimono and a hakama.
He reached his free hand, twitching twice before it gently picked up a pair of spectacles, laying them on the ground next to the futon.
The man stood, his shadow over-casting the fallen comrade, before taking off his own jacket and exiting the room.
. . . . . .
"Mugen..."
"What Fuu."
"Why do you and Jin fight all the time?"
"Shut up Fuu."
. . . . . .
5.
Jin cannot fathom why he cannot defeat Mugen.
But, if you said that Jin is more angered than intrigued, and even respectful then you're dead wrong. Jin has given up on anger long ago, anger and all the unnecessary emotions that like to present themselves with Jin.
Jin clangs his swords with the others, eyebrows burrowing in frustration and contemplation.
Then he notices the nape in Mugen's neck, how sharp and precise his Adam apple is.
Jin wonders what would happen if he placed a well aimed punch at the ball in the other man's throat.
Would he choke ?
Would he scream and gasp for oxygen, his airways clogged by the collapsed cartilage?
Would the blood swell up in his eyes, and would his gums start to bleed?
And Jin wonders, during the moment of battle – the heat of the battle.
Where each one is here to take the other's life –
If he really, really wants that.
. . . . . .
Eventually Jin wakes up.
And touches a mysterious red jacket covering his body.
Eventually Jin sits up.
Eventually Aching..
Eventually...
. . . . . .
...When Mugen wants something, he is determined to never let go. Mugen will cheat and lie and bet it all, just to get a taste of what he has been searching for. So, when Mugen is talking to what he really, really wants, he'll even downright purr. He'll manipulate his way into your head, he'll become everything you ever desired. He'll become someone you hate, love, understand.
If only for a moment.
And you realize, this man with his pouty bottom lip, and his too evil eyes, he's everything everyone desires. Sarcastic, Complex, Cunning.
He's everything you–
. . . . . .
Scene: Two men stand off against each other in the blue-gray sky with mist as make up to its pale facade. The one on the right had a long ponytail blowing in the wind, it's bangs following a close pattern. While the one on the left held his chin high, his shaggy hair catching on the strays of the haze and small tufts catch flight. Their eyes are slightly narrowed, while drops begin to fall and paste their hair to each of their heads, their clothes seeping clear as they become drenched.
Barely visible, there is a pale red ring around the man on the left's wrist, slightly covered by a jade bracelet bathing in dewdrops.
Both their cheeks are slightly flushed, and the man on the right, his eyebrows are raised, and you can barely see the whites around the shape of his eyes, clearly in shock.
The man on the left, his ankle sticks slightly out to the left.
. . . . . .
(There once was a girl who was searching for a samurai that smelled like sunflowers. Her hair was a shade of brown; her kimono is as pink as the Sakuras on her Tanto. She swore that when she found said samurai, she would punch him as hard as she could possibly punch straight across the face. In her conquest however, she got caught up with two samurais who were complete polar opposites.
Despite her presence, she somehow knew that this conquest was bigger than she could ever be.
And despite it being her very conquest – it was never really about her.
She, didn't know how to respond to that.)
. . . . . .
4.
Jin watches as Mugen dies.
After the explosion, when he comes staggering home.
Jin watches as Mugen collapses. The eyes that was so full of life, dead and dull. His mouth falls open, his bottom lip still sticking out farther than his top.
Jin wonder, is Mugen, really, really dead.
Fuu is off somewhere gathering bandages and medicine.
And Jin hears this noise.
A choke, a gasp –
A snore.
And Jin knows, that Mugen isn't really dead.
. . . . . .
Mugen slides the door open before entering the room where Jin lays.
His ankle bandaged, his breathing shallow. Gray bags line underneath his eyes, matching the purple bruises on his face. His spectacles lay off to the side of the futon, the red jacket still covering his white-clad body.
And Jin, can't focus, can't see.
But he knows who it is anyways.
Mugen lays a bowl of water next to the man, closing his eyes as he gets down on his knees to place a freshly cleaned navy blue kimono and black hakama next to it.
Mugen, he opens his eyes slowly, to see black eyes staring back at him.
And they sit there, staring at one and another, for hours.
No words were needed.
. . . . . .
3.
Jin watches when Mugen dies.
Calm is the only thing that covers his face.
Fuu is by his side, screaming, stammering, and freaking out.
Jin holds her back, the silk of her kimono scratching underneath his fingernails. He pushes his spectacles higher on his face, up the bridge of his nose before he takes a deep breath. He watches the explosion replay worse than a broke record in his mind, the smoke and ash still shading the sky worse than an 8b pencil.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Jin wonders, can this man really be dead?
"No...Mugen...won't die this easily..."
It's Fuu who's talking.
But Jin thinks it should be his voice who says that.
. . . . . .
(There once was a man who lost everything in his life. Who refused to explain himself to anyone around him. There once was a man who had more assassination attempts than people he actually killed. His hair was long and pulled back, the strands too short flew about in the front. He spends his life trying to forget about his past, about all those he loved and admired actually dying at his own hands. The red color won't stop staining his hands.
This man, who spends his whole life trying to make by with what he does. Who doesn't live for anything –
He gets caught up on a Journey that finds himself, and saves himself.
This redemption, caused him to lose everything he worked so hard to run from.)
. . . . . .
2.
When Mugen watches Jin sacrifice so much for a girl at a brothel, Mugen cannot explain this feeling inside of him.
If he had to use words, he would say it felt strongly like...
No. He still couldn't explain it.
Mugen would pout and whine and curse. And Fuu, Fuu wouldn't know much about it at all.
But Fuu, she had the general idea.
Mugen, watches as Jin would steal his money, his goddamn money, for this girl. And Mugen, Mugen would let him – with complaints – because Mugen just can't stop himself. Mugen, watches this man leave for another night, his wooden sandals clogging against the stone floor.
Mugen, he doesn't know how to respond to this.
To any of this.
So Mugen, he just watches.
. . . . . .
Mugen is lying on top of Jin, his hands grasp the sides of pale body – the small ripples of muscle underneath his fingertips. His teeth lightly scrape over every inch of skin, and Jin's hands come up to grasp Mugen's shoulders, before digging his nails into the tanned skin. Mugen stares, a sharp glance, before closing his eyes and moving further down – the shallow light of the candles catching his skin, reflecting like one to many sunsets. Mugen's mouth finally grazes over that one prized spot – his hands viciously undoing the sash to Jin's pale kimono – the off white now an ugly shade of piss yellow.
Mugen feels the blood oozing down his back, slow and steady as he begins to lick hungrily – lapping and tasting, as Jin's eyebrows turn up in an action of ecstasy.
Jin is naked, his clothing open and wide, and he's right in front of Mugen.
Mugen, after finishing with his business, sits up, his knees surrounding Jin at the waist.
There Jin is, naked and ready to be devoured.
Scarred, bandaged, bruised.
And he's perfect.
. . . . . .
Scene: It's night, the sky dark and filled with light at the same time. In a small patch of land, surrounded by tall grass and one tree, lays two men. Stars are perfectly clear and unclogged by the industrial age, and the ground is given the same shade of blue as one of the men's Kimono. That man is lying on the bottom, the to the right of another. His left hand is laid sprawled against his chest, while his right hand lays unmoving at his side. His eyes are half open, the lids growing heavy and falling like a building after demolition. Eventually, those eyes fall, and he's sleeping. The man on the left side, his eyes shift over to his right, his right hand behind his head in some sort of pillow. Slowly, ever so slowly, you see his left hand slide against the other man's hand, and barely – just barely, his hands shadows the other. Their fingertips millimeters apart.
A girl in pink, with her brown hair short and spiky in a high-raised ponytail, walks up through the tall grass., the blades chaffing her legs. She looks confused, lost, and a bit angered, as if she was searching for both men for a long time. She eventually stops, feet before this deserted island – occupied by a pair of men. Her hands are at her sides, and you see her shift from her left to her right – before she turns around and walks away.
. . . . . .
(There was once a man, who had sex with a woman in a brothel. He tried everything he did to save her, he wanted to save her. He wanted to run away, and lose everything with her. He wanted to escape his life and started a new. This man, he could do it easily – he had nothing to tie him down, he wasn't like her.
Then, this man realized.
He wasn't like her.
He didn't want to run away.
And when that time came, to say goodbye to those temporary dreams –
He took his one last chance, and kicked it off with that same woman in the boat.)
. . . . . .
1.
Once, Mugen had Jin dress up as a brothel girl.
"I don't have that kind of face idiot." Mugen said.
"You like more Japanese than I do, anyways." Mugen said.
"..." Jin said.
Mugen, he did it out of pure amusement. It was the fastest solution to get rid of their problem. The whole experience was never really about Jin dressing up as a brothel girl. It was never really about how surprisingly well he pulled it off. It was about the end, the end of the event.
Because, at the end, Mugen and Jin came to an understanding.
"No matter how we try and resist it, this is our destiny."
Their swords met one and another.
And, for a brief second.
Mugen pretended it wasn't about the fighting.
. . . . . .
Mugen, finished and satisfied, rose to his feet. Pulling the rest of his clothes back on – Mugen licks a white liquid off his fingertips and around his lips. Jin laid there, his eyes cold and sharp and in slits, before he wrapped his kimono back on and stood up as well, facing Mugen eye to eye.
Mugen exits slowly.
And Jin falls to his knees, his head bowed low.
His ankle throbs.
. . . . . .
Prologue.
Mugen does not know how he met Jin and this strange girl.
He does not know why he is so compelled to fight Jin. Mugen, in fact, does not know many things. His whole life has been based off living in the moment. Spontaneous decisions.
When Mugen first saw this man walked in slowly, his straw hat long gone.
This man, must be out to get me. Mugen thought. Mugen pondered.
"...Are you one of those swordsmen?" Purrs Mugen.
Mugen charges.
"I killed those three men." The man says. Counters.
Clang. Swords Clash.
"That's great!" Mugen replies.
They were surrounded by fire.
And Mugen sees this man, roasting away in a bathtub.
Wait. Mugen thinks. What the hell is that mean? Mugen thinks.
"Jin."
Introductions in a Cell.
"Mugen."
And, before both Jin and Mugen knew it, they were both committed on a journey that neither of then knew would take them.
. . . . . .
Scene: Everyone seems to have changed, and the party of three seemed to reach an end. There were three pathways, the outer sides occupied by signs, the man with a gray kimono and the same black hakama took the right, the girl in the sakura pink kimono in the middle, and the man with a red jacket on the left. They each stare at one and another, and back to their respective paths. The girl walks first, talking a sentence before she left.
The man on the right and the man on the left, exchange a few words before heading their own ways.
The sky is an aquamarine blue – similar to a certain bracelet occupying a certain man's wrist and ankle. The clouds were heavy at the base and light at the top, smooth against the sky and heavy across the texture of the mountains.
. . . . . .
Mugen, he lays against the wooden frame on the screen door.
His mouth sticky and bitter, filled with foreign liquid.
He licks his lips and reminisces. His hands reach across his back, the finger marks tracing the half-moon pockets in his skin. He digs his nails in deep, grasping his shoulder and breaking the temporary seals the blood have caused, causing his own half-moon pockets.
They criss-crossed the others.
Mugen, the red liquid seeping down his back, they stained his hands red.
Mugen, opens the screen door again, and stares at the half up man who is staring intently at his own hands.
Mugen, with flow unrecognizable from the man's clumsy break dancing fighting style, was back on his knees.
He pulls in the other man close, embracing him –
Jin's hair is free and flowing.
Jin's eyes are low and downcast.
And, Jin's hands, they aren't so red anymore.
. . . . . .
(There once was a man, who thought he that nothing matters as long as he kept on traveling. This man thought that, if he takes everything as it came on, he would be all right. This man, he knew that everything happened and that he should, somewhat, learn from it. This man knew he was going to come out on top.
Then, this man, met another man.
And everything changed.)
. . . . . .
...When Mugen and Jin interact, there is something so intangible about the both of them that you would believe they were indeed, fake. When Mugen and Jin fight, despite how much you want to hate it, you cannot help but admire the scene in front of you. When Mugen and Jin talk, their words are nasty and short, but you realize that there is so much more than what seems. You realize, that what you thought you desired about them both, was not only your words.
You realized, that what you desired –
Was what they desired of each other.
And you, you –
. . . . . .
Final Scene: The two men walked in opposite directions. One man, in red walks back to where they part, and stood standing as the wind caught his clothes. The sun was shining directly in his face, the clouds have shifted, blocking his view of the way they parted. And when his hand came down, his bottom lip was still raised up and jutting out slightly, as the clouds shifted and covered the world in a serene feeling of gray.
The man in red, his eye's slightly raised.
As another man in a gray kimono and black hakama pants, appeared.
Authors Note: This was my attempt at being creative. This was my tragic story and happy ending. If it confused you, in anyway, I failed. I didn't provide a guide to what each thing meant - as by the end I hoped it was cleared. Perspectives change.