This fan fiction is based on the Rurouni Kenshin manga. Rurouni Kenshin characters are the property of creator Nobohiro Watsuke, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, Sony Entertainment, and VIZ Comics. This is a non-profit work for entertainment purposes only. Permission was not obtained from the above parties.
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Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters


by Akai Kitsune

11: Shades

 

~*~

The colour of hell isn't really a colour at all. It is actually no more than a shade, an amaranthine darkness tempered by torches that give no warmth - physical or simply comforting to the heart - to those who find themselves there, but serve only to present to them a picture of their surroundings. It shows those unfortunate souls what awaits them when the darkness recedes; the pain, the longing, the emptiness of eternity.

    Or perhaps hell is lighter; pure as white-washed bones, excluding the dark, gaping holes for the mouths and eyes of the skulls that litter the ground. A carpet of bones, piles and piles of the dead, hands stretching out to grasp those above, reaching forever for a wisp of the life they once had.

Maybe it is red; burning fires of crimson exploding from the stained rivers that flowed across the endless plains, reaching up towards the scarlet-tinged skies and the ember sun, made of flames stronger than any other. The air is foggy and blurred with violent stormclouds, and as the wind blows, the rains fall, acidic and the dark, heavy colour of blood. The rain washes over everything, staining the lost souls until all they can see, all they can smell, is the overwhelming, intoxicating scent of the dead -


He came awake with a start, a terrified scream on his tongue and eyes wide as sake cups, body shooting forward to a sitting position. The shout died at his lips, but he couldn't restrain the short, gasping breaths as he tried to recover from the dreams that left him shaken.

It had been worse than usual, that night. He sent a quick glance to the woman lying beside him, and was comforted a little when he saw that she was still sleeping. He would never have forgiven himself for allowing his troubles to disturb her rest, especially after a long day of teaching.

Slowly, he eased himself back, resting his weight on one palm and brushing the other hand across his sweat-slick forehead. After a long moment he pulled away, gazing down at his damp fingers, and gathered his feet below him, resting on his knees to regain his balance before standing, legs shaky and hesitant. He had only taken one step before Kaoru called back to him, her voice sleepy and concerned.

"Kenshin?"

He closed his eyes, pained and unwilling to turn back and show her a smile he knew to be false. "It's all right, Kaoru. Go back to sleep; I'll return soon."

He disappeared from the room, shoji sliding shut behind him, hoping against hope that she would not follow. He waited outside their bedroom until he was certain she was not going to rise, then headed for the kitchen.


It was spring, a year after his arrival at the Kamiya dojo, and the flowers were blooming. Kaoru loved spring; she would dance and laugh as blossoms fell around her like feathery white rain, her sparkling blue eyes shining with delight. He watched her, a soft smile on his own face, and he gratefully accepted the fistful of flowers she sometimes placed in his hand, whispering for him to hold onto them. After a while, she would tire of it, and she would take his hand to go home, not even noticing as he carelessly discarded the petals, nor noticing the deeply etched pain he hid in his eyes as the scent of those flowers swirled around him. She never noticed how he buried his hands into the laundry as soon as they arrived home, washing the clothes, the dirt, and the smell of her from his skin.


Kaoru watched him from the doorway, her eyes unsure and filled with tears, as his hands went down, up, down again, rubbing together, the water clear and flawless in the bucket below them. He stared into the water as he washed, his own eyes glazed and unfocused, empty of any emotions. The water sloshed noisily when he thrust his hands into it yet again, scratching the wrinkling skin against the wood. His hands were raw and burning red, but the colour only seemed to make his motion all the more concentrated, all the more desperate. The movements were calm, almost robotic, and it seemed as if he had done it hundreds of times before.

Hundreds of times. Hundreds of deaths. Washing, always washing.

Steeling herself, she brushed a hand across her eyes and approached him, tiptoeing across the floor to avoid startling him. He must have known she was there - he always did - but he didn't even look up.

"Come to bed," she urged, touching his hand. He hesitated, memories filling his mind. Tomoe called to him, once.

"Are you going to go on killing people forever?"

"Come to bed."

Slowly, he loosened his white-knuckled grip around the bucket, and allowed her to lead him back to their room, where she wrapped her arms around him, holding his hands close to her heart.

Perhaps heaven is not a colour either, but the scent of jasmine, and white plums in springtime.

~*~

This chapter's original title was "Black".

This chapter was partially inspired by Clarus's fic "White Plums", and the fanfic by Team Bonet, "Dream With Open Eyes". Both are beautiful, short glimpses at Kenshin's character at desperate moments of grief and memory, and I would really recommend reading them!

And yes, I am aware that Tomoe says the same thing to Kenshin in my other fic, "Light of the Snow-Red Village". This is semi-intentional. ^_^
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