Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters
by Akai Kitsune
53: Illusions
~*~
Kaoru did not
dream. Or, to be exact, she had difficulty remembering her
dreams. Often she would awaken suddenly, a steady stream of
emotion flaring in her mind - fear, anger, joy - her heart
pounding in her chest for reasons she couldn't explain. It was
frustrating, really, how she would be startled out of sleep for
nothing, waking Kenshin at the same time and, at his soft query
at what was wrong, having to answer that she honestly didn't
know.
Sometimes she
complained to Kenshin about her puzzling troubles, agonizing over
what might have been frightening, what might have
been infuriating, what might have brought her joy. She
would vent over the extensive list of might-have-beens, angry and
not really knowing why, just knowing that it was important in
some silly, ultimately inconsequential way. If that made any
sense.
Later, she felt terribly guilty
at her inconsiderate words to Kenshin. He would listen, patient,
silent, and polite, as she pondered and ranted, ignoring her
tired fury, knowing all the while that the dream was nothing,
would be nothing if it hadn't interrupted her sleep.
But, through her angry pacing,
she never stopped to think of how he might feel. How he
might wish with all his heart that their positions could be
reversed, that she could dream of her fear, her anger, her joy,
and he could be left with the unknowing bliss of not dreaming,
not seeing the dark and bloody existence that was his inner
memory, or whatever it was that drove him to the nightmarish
state she sometimes woke to find him in, shivering, wracked with
chills or tears, or silent, so silent that it made her worry if
he would ever speak, ever smile, again.
And yet the very next night he
was listening, just as silent, but smiling, shaking his head for
no reason, or no reason he would give to her, as she lamented the
loss of a dream, even though dreams were meant to be lost, meant
to be forgotten. He told her this, and she resisted the urge to
ask him why he still has the same dreams, the same memories, that
will never go away.
Guilty, again.
y
~*~
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