A story that has been going through my head for a few months, now debuting in part to help pass the time between other story updates. Don't allow the mood of this first chapter to put you off, because I assure you that it does pick up.
The Black Roses
Chapter I: Black
July 18, 2006
'What is with the Ningen infatuation with flowers?' Hiei wondered, sullenly observing the shop's interior.
Through the florist's windows he cold see the world outside- grey, dormant, desolate. Light and life had yet to return from their sleep, and still the humans sought to carve within the natural world one of their own. They used electricity to fuel their heat and their artificial lights, and here in this small store it looked like someone had tried to incarcerate a rainbow. In the natural world, these flowers would have either died or gone into a seasonal coma. Instead, they were cultivated by humans under a false sun, and then cut and kept alive in coolers, selected and assembled in decorative arrangements, slowly dying all the while. Finally they would reach their last destination, and nature would take back control, and the life the humans had prolonged would seep out as the flowers at last withered.
And what was Hiei doing in a flower shop in the Ningenkai? Ironically, buying flowers.
His eyes focused on some blooms situated up near the counter. Being no expert on botany, he could not identify what breed of flower they were, but found himself attracted to the color. 'Ai,' he thought. Such a lovely indigo hue.
Ai. Ai was also love.
Love was when a mother pleaded for her son's life, and wept helplessly as he was hurled to the merciless forests below. It was when a mixed-up creature was willing to give his life in exchange for that of the prey he had come to call 'Mother.' It was what kept a nameless, faceless brother always watching out, incognito, for the safety and happiness of his little sister. It inspired such devotion and loyalty toward a lover that one would stand by his side even while he went mad and sought world annihilation. It motivated a demon to starve himself to death, rather than survive off of the flesh of the species of someone he had loved. If lifted you up when you were down, nurtured you when your spirit was weak, and served as a candle in your darkest hour.
But what happened, what could you do, when the one you loved . . . ?
Where were the black flowers, he wondered. There were many dark and muted colors, but he did not see any flowers resembling the ones someone had once told him about. . . .
"Something's wrong," Hiei said, staring at his companion. "You're not your annoying self. Are you sick?"
Kurama shifted a little, but did not answer immediately. He sat with one leg stretched in front of him, the other folded against his chest. His less than vibrant complexion suggested that he might actually be ill. "Perhaps," he murmured. "Hiei, have you ever thought about death?"
"What?" The question had caught him off guard. "Why?"
The redhead closed his eyes. "Never mind. I already know the answer. You have thought about death, a lot- the deaths of those you hate, of those you love- you've thought about your own death. Wanted it, perhaps. I have."
Hiei furrowed his brow. "You've wanted my death?"
"No, Hiei, not your death. Never your death."
"Then what are you talking about?" he asked cautiously. Kurama didn't answer, and again Hiei noticed how lackluster he looked, how he was shivering. "You're cold," Hiei said, surprising himself somewhat when he offered his cloak to Kurama, who tried to reject it. "If you're not already sick, you will be. Take this, or I'll tie you into it."
Kurama took it, reluctantly. "What do you know about black, Hiei?" he asked, staring down at the material that now covered him.
"Why?"
"It's just a question."
Hiei sighed and rolled his eyes. "Black is the absence of light. It is the absence of color- or all the colors mixed together, depending on how you look at it." He eyed Kurama, who merely looked at him, so he continued. "Symbolically, black can mean positive things, but it's often used to depict despair and death." He heaved another sigh. "Are you satisfied? I've become you."
The Fox smiled a little, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. "Black is what mourners wear."
"Yes, I already said that," Hiei said impatiently. "Black represents dea-." He stared at Kurama, who calmly stared back. "Kurama," he said slowly, "you're not-?"
"Hiei," the redhead interrupted. "When I die- and I will die before you," he added when Hiei began to object, "because I am a human now."
". . . You're a demon," Hiei protested, but he knew what Kurama meant. Though he was and always would be a demon, he now resided in human flesh. Even if both of them lived out the course of their natural lives, human bodies still wore out much quicker. "When you die," the Koorime said.
"When I die, though I have never ruled out having my ashes scattered, I think that my family- my mother in particular- would prefer I were interred in the ground, under a marker bearing my name."
"Kurama," Hiei said, confused, "if you died naturally, I don't think your mother would still-"
"When I die, I want you to do two things for me."
He hated his friend for this melancholy conversation. "What are they?"
"From time to time, I want you to look in on my family."
Hiei thought of the woman, the man, and the boy. "But, if you die naturally . . ."
"You only have to do the second task once, if you wish."
"And that is?" he asked, wondering if Kurama actually was sick.
"Humans and demons share the custom of laying down flowers at the resting places of their dead, as I'm sure you're aware. Hiei, when I die, I want you to put roses on my grave."
Kurama did look pale, Hiei noted. "Is that all?" he asked quietly.
His friend nodded. "They have to be black," the Fox added.
"Black?"
"Do you know what the black rose means?"
"Black represents death," Hiei said, again.
"Yes, but a black rose means something else, too." Kurama's voice was hoarse. "Do you know what that is, Hiei?"
Were Kurama's eyes brighter than usual, or was it his imagination? "No, what?"
"The black rose . . . represents insanity."