I own it not. It owns me. Join me in the bliss of obsession!
Wow, um... yeah. Been a while. My apologies... I really have neglected my Rurouni Kenshin fanfics, and this occurred to me recently (most likely since I realized it's been over a year since I updated LSRV)... but no matter what I did, the writing just wouldn't come.

In desperation, earlier this afternoon I tried my hand at oneword dot com and ended up with this. Ignored the time limit, of course, but that's besides the point... I might rely on this more in the future, but hopefully this will help me write more now that it's summer and school is done.
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Diary of a Manslayer
A sequel to Kendo no Go

by Akai Kitsune ::: 19.Jun.2005

Chapter 09: Jewelry Box



He is trapped within a box.

It is a box of memories; a box of fear and hate and danger and worry and everything he had once felt, everything he had ever wanted to feel or not wanted to feel and it was there in his mind, terrifying, infuriating, wondrous and dark and light.

It is a box he has made for himself, a box that refuses to disappear, a box that he constructed out of what he was and what he fears he will be.

It is a box that makes him human, makes him a demon, makes him a husband, a father, a mystery, a legend. It is the box that drives him to domestic nature, to chores that require him to wash his hands, to create instead of destroy, to mold and form beautiful creations with the fingers that once did nothing but kill and maim and destroy.

It is a box he hates, yet cannot escape.

It is a box that no one has broken, never, much as he desires them to. A box that has always been there, always will be.

He cannot remember a time when he did not feel the walls pressed against his body, against his heart, when he did not feel them crushing him slowly, painfully, without warning, without mercy.

It is a contest of wills, a war between mind and heart and body and soul.

He is losing.

But there is hope.

There is a hand outside the box. Reaching, prodding, tearing at the walls with calloused fingers and torn nails, calling to him gently, insistently, pleadingly. Calling his name. There are eyes watching him, through holes that have been patiently carved through, meeting his gaze and telling him - in a voice that cannot be argued with - to come out again.

There was once a time when he was free.

The box remains.

He has a family now; friends, comrades, allies. More hands, tearing, grasping, beckoning. More eyes watching, different expressions, same request. More voices, some louder than others, some more patient, some more gentle, all speaking his name.

Over the years he learns to call back. He learns to smile, to reassure, to laugh and say that he'd come, he'd definitely come. One day, he would be free again. And they smile back, nodding, because they'd known all along, and they are still waiting, always waiting for him.

He'd come, one day.

The box remains, but it is larger now, no longer crushing him, choking him to death with its terrible weight. His family is on the other side, waiting, and there are many holes through which to reach for them.

They reach for him, and he laughs, because they are warm, and he loves them for the brightness they bring to his dark cage.

He is trapped within a box.

But it is alright, though the walls are full of memories, because he no longer has to touch them when he stretches his hands to the sky.


Thanks for all your support and patience. You guys have been awesome and you make writing this fic worthwhile! D
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