The Sons of a Battlecry -Part 1-
THE SONS OF A BATTLECRY
-Part 1-
Maybe, someone asked about me
Someone from somewhere, before I was even born
He cracks an eye open, and is greeted by nothing but pure white. The curtains blows inward, softly like the calming wind from the open window. And each time, he can catch a glimpse of the blue sky; the sunlight feels warm on his stiff body. He takes a deep breath and sighs, he knows this place anywhere. The faint smell of aesthetics, the silent and cold demeanor of atmosphere hanging in the air, hospitals are never an interesting place to wake up to.
He closes his eyes, relaxing his somewhat stiff body, his mind wanders around the wide world. He dreams of him running down the park and goes to the beach, hanging around the town, and is present at everywhere his feet can bring him. Wherever it may be, he will not mind.
Because anywhere is better than here, he thinks.
He is sick of himself, lying on the bed all the times when the whole world is wide enough for him to see. He does not want to rot himself in this small room, no. He wants out and his mind is screaming of agreement, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, but his legs remains numb as his lungs struggles to share the excitement and breathe, and that is all to it.
He breathes slowly, and within seconds, all the adrenalin rush is gone, like it never even appears at the first place. Call him indifferent, he is too practical to know that despairing himself will not help him in anyway possible. His world so far has been nothing but white that mocks him when he is awake, and black that swallows him whole when he is asleep.
He might as well dead already.
Until his world turns monochrome in color out of the sudden, and he is standing on his feet that he thinks, for the first time.
“I’m alive.”
The murmured regrets are clinging to your hand
Is that sharpened blade being swung for the sake of someone else?
He is running, so fast he can hardly catch his breath, but that is not important at the moment. He is being chased after all, despite the fact that he does not even know what exactly is going on and why is he being hunt down at the very first place. He is sure enough that he just walks around when out of nowhere the men starts shouting and are all after him.
In an absurd situation like this, of course, he does the next best thing; he runs.
He runs and runs and runs, never turning back even for once. He closes his ears from any sound and just focuses on his run. He can feel the wind, the rustles of the leaves on his way, and the sun shines above him. His heart is beating, and he is smiling, and he, is alive.
When he realizes it, he is already far, far away from the place he starts running, and the men are nowhere to be seen, to his relieve. Slowing his pace down, he jogs down the path, and gathers his breathing again, the air feels fresh inside him. He eventually stops when he accidentally bumps into a person, knocking both of them down and he knocks his head on the ground at the process.
He almost sees the black world coming when a voice calling out to him and a hand shakes him up almost unwillingly. With a groan, he opens his eyes, only to stare into a pair who looks eerily similar to his own.
No, scratch that, he just meets a doppelganger of his own, clad in a dark blue kimono and carrying a daisho -a pair of swords consists of a katana and a smaller blade called wakizashi- at the left waist staring curiously at him.
Heck, even the next words that comes out of each other’s lips are the same.
“Who are you?”
Oh don’t lose your head
'Cause none of us were angels
The town is an epitome of evil. The darkness of its shadow extends to the farthest space, engulfing everything within it. He walks along the dark alley, cringes at how cold everything and everyone is. There is no warmth existed here, even the sun is hidden from its glory by the thick smoke on the sky, wrapping this world like a cocoon.
He met the person already by chance and truth to be told, they actually pass by each other, but he is unnoticeable by the other party. The person is totally engrossed in himself that he fails to see him, not that he blames him or anything. In fact, it might be easier this way.
He does not want to feel attached or anything.
So, he follows him around, to the restaurant, the bar, the bank, all the way invincible in the person’s eyes. He watches how the person is so cold and heartless, killing already five people at the moment, every time checking a list in his pocket, possibly on who is the next victim or something, and it dawns on him.
The person is a hired killer, and a skillful one at that. He shows no remorse on anybody and everybody, and he knows that this time, there is a slim chance of him successfully going back like before, but then, he chooses this, and even if he does not, he may still doing it.
There is no returning back.
Today, he watches the person entering a tall building, the tallest in the city, and by the way the person fiddles with a brown small notebook in the pocket, he knows there is a job to be done. Somebody is going to die later. Shrugging the thought off, he follows the person up the 90th storey building.
Somewhere inside of him, he thinks that it is odd the person does not notice him by now; it has been quite some time already since he is here after all. Still, he cannot come up with a good explanation so he buries the idea away.
He is here to kill the person; in order to start anew, for the sake of his own life, and come hell or water high, he is doing it, the words from before echoing in his head, over and over again, incessantly repeating.
“A new beginning comes from an ending, after all.”
Turn off your mind, unwind
and see how high the cloudy sky
Today, a new male nurse is assigned to do the usual checkup on the patient room 414, who, according to the report on his hands, permitted minimal consciousness and brain activity as of now; simply known to people as been in a comatose state. It might been normal has the patient been in a bad condition all this time, but, this person, is actually doing fine and might recovered fully. Even though to be frank, might recover does not gives any guarantees in the first place.
The nurse understands this, and he is sure the patient knows it better than he is.
Slowly, he pushes the door to the room, and cringe at the sight. The room is cold, dimly lit, and the whole atmosphere screams out nothing but gloominess. The curtain is drawn, hiding the tightly closed window, though sometimes the wind from the fan blows it inward, welcoming the moonlight to crawl across the room, illuminating a person lying on the bed peacefully by the said window.
The lack of life in the small hospital room is depressing.
There are almost no sound can be heard, safe for the whirling of the fan and hushed whisper of hospital staffs outside the door. Other than that, the place is as silent as it can be. Occasionally, the nurses or doctors will come in and check the condition of the person who frequenting the room, hoping for any sign of improvement, to no avail.
He immediately starts his work, checking the blood pressure, temperature, pulse rate, etc; anything a normal nurse may do. Everything is normal, to his relieve, safe for the lack of warmth on the skin, but that is to be expected, maybe, and he takes a glance at the patient; the skin is pale, even more so when the moonlight shines on it, the long, dark bangs rested on the forehead, and for some reason, he thinks that the patient looks peaceful in his sleep.
He smiles at the thought, and as he looks around he makes a mental note to bring at least some flowers to decorate the room, he cannot stand the emptiness accumulated in here. Besides, he thinks, the patient might like that.
Maybe, just maybe, he will not feel so lonely.
He walks slowly towards the exit, does not want to make any unnecessary sound and interrupt the patient, despite his conscience reminds him that he is in coma, he may or may not hear you; he shakes his head at that. The patient looks like he can be his younger brother, and he still feels that he has to respect the privacy of a patient, conscious or not.
Taking a last look into the room, he cannot help but feel for the young man, and softly, whispers to the shadows on his vision, the door closes with a barely audible click.
“Have a nice dream, Kyuhyun-shii.”
Tell me the secrets of the dream
about the sorrows that I’ll come across
The world is anything but empty, and a mishmash of black and white. It is like vacuum, an outer space, limitless and far reaching. In front of him is the person, which brings the color grey, and totally disconnected from this world. Truth to be told, it is not like he is afraid or anything of sort, rather, he is curious, of the person, that is.
He knows this is nothing but a dream anyway.
This is a dream world, where he is nothing but him. He can create anything that he wants, he can escape from reality, and he often does, although he sometimes is not aware of it when he wakes up. Yet, he usually is in a good mood afterwards, so he can vaguely guess. After all, this is his dream. This is his world. He owns everything here, and knows everything here.
So when the person suddenly shows up, it confuses the hell out of him. Nobody is supposed to be here, nobody can, since he block all the door that sometimes randomly shows up, indicating somebody else’s dream might crash and intertwine with his.
He hates that.
He does not want anyone to bother him. He had enough of that already. He had enough of people interfering with his life and decides things for him. He had enough of people showing pity just because he is well, sick. He feels like he is better off alone, as always. So he closes himself up, and does things his way, successfully driving people away, one by one. Until there are no one else left but him, alone. He regrets nothing, of course. He chooses this.
He proceeds to ignore the person, who to him is a nuisance, until one day, out of the blue, the person talks to him for the first time.
"I will make it so you can see either the past or the future, so which do you prefer?"
For the first time since he found this monochrome world, the ground shakes, and he thinks.
“Of course, there is a price.”
At that, he feels the ground shakes violently beneath him, and as the world collapses in front of him, he can see the person clearly, staring at him, whispering softly amidst the chaos. He loses his balance on whatever it is that keeps his footing before and he can feel himself falling down on all that he ever known, the voice ringing in his ears.
“Have a nice trip, Kyuhyun-shii.”
Some live, some die
in the way of the samurai
The summer’s sun is so pretty it blows his mind, and for a second he momentarily forgets that there is a war going on. Behind him, sounds of swords clashing breaking the air with sharp tone, and cries of pain fills the entire forest. He slumps his shoulder down, staring down his wooden geta on the foot, and prays that the person will be alright.
In this period of time, where warriors are not as important as before, due to the relatively peaceful era, he cannot help but feel that the person is living in a wrong frame of time. The person, despite being a ronin, still holds the bushido code close to heart, and he admires him for it. But then, he cannot really understand this whole samurai business, he does not belong here anyway.
There is a tug at the hem of his loose shirt, and he turns to see him standing, barely break a sweat, the daisho is back at their places. He stands up to leave, but the person is quick enough to put a blindfold over his eyes, and lead them away. He understands that the scene must not be good for his stomach to handle, thus the action, but his imagination on what is going on is not helping either.
Still, he is grateful, for he can still smell the blood lingers now.
The person takes off the blindfold for him sometime after that, and wears the straw hat, lowers it down for good measure, and he follow suit. They are heading West for Nagasaki now, and somehow he thinks of the incident when Murasaki Dojo got the signboard been brought down as the sign of humiliation toward the dojo right in front of their eyes and how almost instantly, this person kills all the witness without hesitation, the gleam in his eyes as he does so is not normal.
It is like that of a Lucifer.
He knows that the person owes the owner of the dojo before, and the old man had died years ago, still, to face such an incident is probably unbearable to him, thus the mass killing. And now the shinsengumi are all hot in their tails, increasing the number of murder in the person’s hand.
Even that, does not make the person a bad person in his book. And he is sure he does not tag along the ride just because they have the same face, no. He might die here, and might even not being able to go back, but for now, he is here, with the ronin who might actually be a fragment of him in anyways possible, and he is content enough.
As they lie down and call it a day, the Earth is their bed and the starry sky as their roof he thinks of his life so far, and breathes out.
“I’m glad I met you, Kyu-san.”
He just hears the soft breathing of the samurai as a reply, yet, he smiles. For he can almost hears what the person wants to say anyway.
“I’m glad I met you too, Kyuhyun-san.”
-Part 1-
Maybe, someone asked about me
Someone from somewhere, before I was even born
He cracks an eye open, and is greeted by nothing but pure white. The curtains blows inward, softly like the calming wind from the open window. And each time, he can catch a glimpse of the blue sky; the sunlight feels warm on his stiff body. He takes a deep breath and sighs, he knows this place anywhere. The faint smell of aesthetics, the silent and cold demeanor of atmosphere hanging in the air, hospitals are never an interesting place to wake up to.
He closes his eyes, relaxing his somewhat stiff body, his mind wanders around the wide world. He dreams of him running down the park and goes to the beach, hanging around the town, and is present at everywhere his feet can bring him. Wherever it may be, he will not mind.
Because anywhere is better than here, he thinks.
He is sick of himself, lying on the bed all the times when the whole world is wide enough for him to see. He does not want to rot himself in this small room, no. He wants out and his mind is screaming of agreement, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, but his legs remains numb as his lungs struggles to share the excitement and breathe, and that is all to it.
He breathes slowly, and within seconds, all the adrenalin rush is gone, like it never even appears at the first place. Call him indifferent, he is too practical to know that despairing himself will not help him in anyway possible. His world so far has been nothing but white that mocks him when he is awake, and black that swallows him whole when he is asleep.
He might as well dead already.
Until his world turns monochrome in color out of the sudden, and he is standing on his feet that he thinks, for the first time.
“I’m alive.”
The murmured regrets are clinging to your hand
Is that sharpened blade being swung for the sake of someone else?
He is running, so fast he can hardly catch his breath, but that is not important at the moment. He is being chased after all, despite the fact that he does not even know what exactly is going on and why is he being hunt down at the very first place. He is sure enough that he just walks around when out of nowhere the men starts shouting and are all after him.
In an absurd situation like this, of course, he does the next best thing; he runs.
He runs and runs and runs, never turning back even for once. He closes his ears from any sound and just focuses on his run. He can feel the wind, the rustles of the leaves on his way, and the sun shines above him. His heart is beating, and he is smiling, and he, is alive.
When he realizes it, he is already far, far away from the place he starts running, and the men are nowhere to be seen, to his relieve. Slowing his pace down, he jogs down the path, and gathers his breathing again, the air feels fresh inside him. He eventually stops when he accidentally bumps into a person, knocking both of them down and he knocks his head on the ground at the process.
He almost sees the black world coming when a voice calling out to him and a hand shakes him up almost unwillingly. With a groan, he opens his eyes, only to stare into a pair who looks eerily similar to his own.
No, scratch that, he just meets a doppelganger of his own, clad in a dark blue kimono and carrying a daisho -a pair of swords consists of a katana and a smaller blade called wakizashi- at the left waist staring curiously at him.
Heck, even the next words that comes out of each other’s lips are the same.
“Who are you?”
Oh don’t lose your head
'Cause none of us were angels
The town is an epitome of evil. The darkness of its shadow extends to the farthest space, engulfing everything within it. He walks along the dark alley, cringes at how cold everything and everyone is. There is no warmth existed here, even the sun is hidden from its glory by the thick smoke on the sky, wrapping this world like a cocoon.
He met the person already by chance and truth to be told, they actually pass by each other, but he is unnoticeable by the other party. The person is totally engrossed in himself that he fails to see him, not that he blames him or anything. In fact, it might be easier this way.
He does not want to feel attached or anything.
So, he follows him around, to the restaurant, the bar, the bank, all the way invincible in the person’s eyes. He watches how the person is so cold and heartless, killing already five people at the moment, every time checking a list in his pocket, possibly on who is the next victim or something, and it dawns on him.
The person is a hired killer, and a skillful one at that. He shows no remorse on anybody and everybody, and he knows that this time, there is a slim chance of him successfully going back like before, but then, he chooses this, and even if he does not, he may still doing it.
There is no returning back.
Today, he watches the person entering a tall building, the tallest in the city, and by the way the person fiddles with a brown small notebook in the pocket, he knows there is a job to be done. Somebody is going to die later. Shrugging the thought off, he follows the person up the 90th storey building.
Somewhere inside of him, he thinks that it is odd the person does not notice him by now; it has been quite some time already since he is here after all. Still, he cannot come up with a good explanation so he buries the idea away.
He is here to kill the person; in order to start anew, for the sake of his own life, and come hell or water high, he is doing it, the words from before echoing in his head, over and over again, incessantly repeating.
“A new beginning comes from an ending, after all.”
Turn off your mind, unwind
and see how high the cloudy sky
Today, a new male nurse is assigned to do the usual checkup on the patient room 414, who, according to the report on his hands, permitted minimal consciousness and brain activity as of now; simply known to people as been in a comatose state. It might been normal has the patient been in a bad condition all this time, but, this person, is actually doing fine and might recovered fully. Even though to be frank, might recover does not gives any guarantees in the first place.
The nurse understands this, and he is sure the patient knows it better than he is.
Slowly, he pushes the door to the room, and cringe at the sight. The room is cold, dimly lit, and the whole atmosphere screams out nothing but gloominess. The curtain is drawn, hiding the tightly closed window, though sometimes the wind from the fan blows it inward, welcoming the moonlight to crawl across the room, illuminating a person lying on the bed peacefully by the said window.
The lack of life in the small hospital room is depressing.
There are almost no sound can be heard, safe for the whirling of the fan and hushed whisper of hospital staffs outside the door. Other than that, the place is as silent as it can be. Occasionally, the nurses or doctors will come in and check the condition of the person who frequenting the room, hoping for any sign of improvement, to no avail.
He immediately starts his work, checking the blood pressure, temperature, pulse rate, etc; anything a normal nurse may do. Everything is normal, to his relieve, safe for the lack of warmth on the skin, but that is to be expected, maybe, and he takes a glance at the patient; the skin is pale, even more so when the moonlight shines on it, the long, dark bangs rested on the forehead, and for some reason, he thinks that the patient looks peaceful in his sleep.
He smiles at the thought, and as he looks around he makes a mental note to bring at least some flowers to decorate the room, he cannot stand the emptiness accumulated in here. Besides, he thinks, the patient might like that.
Maybe, just maybe, he will not feel so lonely.
He walks slowly towards the exit, does not want to make any unnecessary sound and interrupt the patient, despite his conscience reminds him that he is in coma, he may or may not hear you; he shakes his head at that. The patient looks like he can be his younger brother, and he still feels that he has to respect the privacy of a patient, conscious or not.
Taking a last look into the room, he cannot help but feel for the young man, and softly, whispers to the shadows on his vision, the door closes with a barely audible click.
“Have a nice dream, Kyuhyun-shii.”
Tell me the secrets of the dream
about the sorrows that I’ll come across
The world is anything but empty, and a mishmash of black and white. It is like vacuum, an outer space, limitless and far reaching. In front of him is the person, which brings the color grey, and totally disconnected from this world. Truth to be told, it is not like he is afraid or anything of sort, rather, he is curious, of the person, that is.
He knows this is nothing but a dream anyway.
This is a dream world, where he is nothing but him. He can create anything that he wants, he can escape from reality, and he often does, although he sometimes is not aware of it when he wakes up. Yet, he usually is in a good mood afterwards, so he can vaguely guess. After all, this is his dream. This is his world. He owns everything here, and knows everything here.
So when the person suddenly shows up, it confuses the hell out of him. Nobody is supposed to be here, nobody can, since he block all the door that sometimes randomly shows up, indicating somebody else’s dream might crash and intertwine with his.
He hates that.
He does not want anyone to bother him. He had enough of that already. He had enough of people interfering with his life and decides things for him. He had enough of people showing pity just because he is well, sick. He feels like he is better off alone, as always. So he closes himself up, and does things his way, successfully driving people away, one by one. Until there are no one else left but him, alone. He regrets nothing, of course. He chooses this.
He proceeds to ignore the person, who to him is a nuisance, until one day, out of the blue, the person talks to him for the first time.
"I will make it so you can see either the past or the future, so which do you prefer?"
For the first time since he found this monochrome world, the ground shakes, and he thinks.
“Of course, there is a price.”
At that, he feels the ground shakes violently beneath him, and as the world collapses in front of him, he can see the person clearly, staring at him, whispering softly amidst the chaos. He loses his balance on whatever it is that keeps his footing before and he can feel himself falling down on all that he ever known, the voice ringing in his ears.
“Have a nice trip, Kyuhyun-shii.”
Some live, some die
in the way of the samurai
The summer’s sun is so pretty it blows his mind, and for a second he momentarily forgets that there is a war going on. Behind him, sounds of swords clashing breaking the air with sharp tone, and cries of pain fills the entire forest. He slumps his shoulder down, staring down his wooden geta on the foot, and prays that the person will be alright.
In this period of time, where warriors are not as important as before, due to the relatively peaceful era, he cannot help but feel that the person is living in a wrong frame of time. The person, despite being a ronin, still holds the bushido code close to heart, and he admires him for it. But then, he cannot really understand this whole samurai business, he does not belong here anyway.
There is a tug at the hem of his loose shirt, and he turns to see him standing, barely break a sweat, the daisho is back at their places. He stands up to leave, but the person is quick enough to put a blindfold over his eyes, and lead them away. He understands that the scene must not be good for his stomach to handle, thus the action, but his imagination on what is going on is not helping either.
Still, he is grateful, for he can still smell the blood lingers now.
The person takes off the blindfold for him sometime after that, and wears the straw hat, lowers it down for good measure, and he follow suit. They are heading West for Nagasaki now, and somehow he thinks of the incident when Murasaki Dojo got the signboard been brought down as the sign of humiliation toward the dojo right in front of their eyes and how almost instantly, this person kills all the witness without hesitation, the gleam in his eyes as he does so is not normal.
It is like that of a Lucifer.
He knows that the person owes the owner of the dojo before, and the old man had died years ago, still, to face such an incident is probably unbearable to him, thus the mass killing. And now the shinsengumi are all hot in their tails, increasing the number of murder in the person’s hand.
Even that, does not make the person a bad person in his book. And he is sure he does not tag along the ride just because they have the same face, no. He might die here, and might even not being able to go back, but for now, he is here, with the ronin who might actually be a fragment of him in anyways possible, and he is content enough.
As they lie down and call it a day, the Earth is their bed and the starry sky as their roof he thinks of his life so far, and breathes out.
“I’m glad I met you, Kyu-san.”
He just hears the soft breathing of the samurai as a reply, yet, he smiles. For he can almost hears what the person wants to say anyway.
“I’m glad I met you too, Kyuhyun-san.”