[Bokurano] fic: Those Left Behind: These hands made of splinters
When I started writing, it already wasn't the 21st. ^^; Oops!
Title: Those Left Behind: These hands made of splinters
Day/Theme: Aug 21 These hands made of splinters
Series: Bokurano
Character/Pairing: Komoda Tomoe (Komoda's dad)
Rating: PG
Notes: for 31_days. Manga canon with spoilers up to chapter 37.
Archive: LJ | ffnet
-----
"Do you think, I might learn to play the piano with these hands? The hands that killed my daughter."
-----
Once he quit the military, Komoda Tomoe and his wife didn't return to the charred remains of what was once their house. Although fire was never pleasant, the fire that had burned their house down had at least given them the option to start over in a place that wasn't plagued with memories. The only thing he retrieved from their previous residence was the piano that their daughter had ultimately loved.
The piano, surprisingly enough, had survived the fire intact. Scorch marks branded the two front legs, but the lopsidedness of the piano was easily fixed. He knew the wood of the rest of the piano must have been smoked and would not produce the same sound as before, but this was a piano he couldn't abandon. Although he wasn't a musician, he at least knew some carpentry, and he knew how to follow manuals. Fixing the piano would be no small feat, but it was something he wanted and needed to do.
His days became dedicated to fixing the piano. Day and night, he'd return to the piano for one more touch up like a man possessed, until finally, the piano was playable.
With sweaty hands, he positioned his fingers over the keys. He squinted at the music sheet in front of him in an attempt to figure out which note was which. Once he memorized the first line, he looked down at his fingers. Muttering the note under his breath, he pressed one of his fingers down and immediately let go. A loud, jerky sound resounded in the air. He wiped his forehead with one hand before returning to the daunting task of figuring out how to play the first line. His fingers felt like ungraceful stubs. They refused to move as he wanted them to even though he had been proud of his dexterity when he had been part of the military. Immersed as he was, he didn't hear his wife's approach.
"What are you doing?" came his wife's stilted voice from the doorway. Her presence was surprising. She had been avoiding this room with the piano even after her recovery.
He paused. The horrendous tune he had been stringing together seemed to linger in the air indefinitely.
"Learning how to play the piano," he answered.
"You sound horrible." Her voice was terse, disapproving. She hadn't wanted the piano in their new residence. Hearing it was even worse.
He continued his attempt to play. The notes made both of them wince. "I once told Takami that I would try learning if I ever quit the military." He hit another note that made him cringe, but he plowed on. "She asked me why I couldn't learn right away. I couldn't learn, not then, because I thought the piano would make me feel too gentle."
He stopped and looked at his wife, his eyes sad. "Now, I need some of that gentleness and peace in my life."
Inside of him, his equilibrium had been disrupted. No, it had been completely knocked over, unable to be restored. He was hanging off a cliff with a raging river below him, the roaring water deafening in his ears. His one hand that clung to life was the hand that had pulled the trigger on his daughter. He was upset, furious, powerless, disgusted with himself, a bundle of negative emotions. He wanted to be at peace with himself, not because he deserved it, but because his daughter would have wanted it that way. Through the piano, perhaps he'd be able to capture some of that tranquility that had helped his daughter face death with a smile.
The warm body next to him startled him out of his thoughts. His wife had taken a seat next to him. Although her lips were pursed, her eyes were wet.
"You're never going to learn by yourself like that. Let me show you how it should be done."
When his wife began playing, the tune infinitely better under her fingers, he finally let himself relax.
The piano was enjoyable. It was honest. It would help him remember Takami and her smile.
-----
the end
Title: Those Left Behind: These hands made of splinters
Day/Theme: Aug 21 These hands made of splinters
Series: Bokurano
Character/Pairing: Komoda Tomoe (Komoda's dad)
Rating: PG
Notes: for 31_days. Manga canon with spoilers up to chapter 37.
Archive: LJ | ffnet
-----
"Do you think, I might learn to play the piano with these hands? The hands that killed my daughter."
-----
Once he quit the military, Komoda Tomoe and his wife didn't return to the charred remains of what was once their house. Although fire was never pleasant, the fire that had burned their house down had at least given them the option to start over in a place that wasn't plagued with memories. The only thing he retrieved from their previous residence was the piano that their daughter had ultimately loved.
The piano, surprisingly enough, had survived the fire intact. Scorch marks branded the two front legs, but the lopsidedness of the piano was easily fixed. He knew the wood of the rest of the piano must have been smoked and would not produce the same sound as before, but this was a piano he couldn't abandon. Although he wasn't a musician, he at least knew some carpentry, and he knew how to follow manuals. Fixing the piano would be no small feat, but it was something he wanted and needed to do.
His days became dedicated to fixing the piano. Day and night, he'd return to the piano for one more touch up like a man possessed, until finally, the piano was playable.
With sweaty hands, he positioned his fingers over the keys. He squinted at the music sheet in front of him in an attempt to figure out which note was which. Once he memorized the first line, he looked down at his fingers. Muttering the note under his breath, he pressed one of his fingers down and immediately let go. A loud, jerky sound resounded in the air. He wiped his forehead with one hand before returning to the daunting task of figuring out how to play the first line. His fingers felt like ungraceful stubs. They refused to move as he wanted them to even though he had been proud of his dexterity when he had been part of the military. Immersed as he was, he didn't hear his wife's approach.
"What are you doing?" came his wife's stilted voice from the doorway. Her presence was surprising. She had been avoiding this room with the piano even after her recovery.
He paused. The horrendous tune he had been stringing together seemed to linger in the air indefinitely.
"Learning how to play the piano," he answered.
"You sound horrible." Her voice was terse, disapproving. She hadn't wanted the piano in their new residence. Hearing it was even worse.
He continued his attempt to play. The notes made both of them wince. "I once told Takami that I would try learning if I ever quit the military." He hit another note that made him cringe, but he plowed on. "She asked me why I couldn't learn right away. I couldn't learn, not then, because I thought the piano would make me feel too gentle."
He stopped and looked at his wife, his eyes sad. "Now, I need some of that gentleness and peace in my life."
Inside of him, his equilibrium had been disrupted. No, it had been completely knocked over, unable to be restored. He was hanging off a cliff with a raging river below him, the roaring water deafening in his ears. His one hand that clung to life was the hand that had pulled the trigger on his daughter. He was upset, furious, powerless, disgusted with himself, a bundle of negative emotions. He wanted to be at peace with himself, not because he deserved it, but because his daughter would have wanted it that way. Through the piano, perhaps he'd be able to capture some of that tranquility that had helped his daughter face death with a smile.
The warm body next to him startled him out of his thoughts. His wife had taken a seat next to him. Although her lips were pursed, her eyes were wet.
"You're never going to learn by yourself like that. Let me show you how it should be done."
When his wife began playing, the tune infinitely better under her fingers, he finally let himself relax.
The piano was enjoyable. It was honest. It would help him remember Takami and her smile.
-----
the end