Surviving

I wince as I am torn from the gentle nothingness of unconsciousness. I half expect to be home, or the place where I used to call my home.

I cry out as a sharp pain streaks up my arm, causing glowing, painful bars of red to cross my vision. Gasping as it moves in waves down my body, I roll myself into a fetal position as while taking in several sharp, painful breaths. If I move, it will only cause me more pain.

I want to die, want to end my pain. As I lie facedown I cannot move, petrified by fear. Fear that those who have done this to me will return, and fear that if I am found like this someone will kill me as an act of mercy.

These two fears, the fear of moving and the fear of discovery, battle within me as I try to make my breathing normal, but to no avail.

The fear of discovery wins. Pushing myself up on my arm, my chest convulses as I cough, clutching my hand to my battered torso. My eyes clear slightly as I remember where I am; and remember how I came to be in this state. I suddenly feel as if I am reliving it.

They came from behind me, two grabbing my arms while the other three stood in front of me. They held me there, making me immobile, so I was unable to draw my weapon. I remember their cold smiles as they seemed to take pleasure in my fear. These men are like animals, people who feel exhilaration while others suffer at their hands.

I almost wish they had finished me then, wishing one of them had been careless with his sword and cut me too deep, so I could die quickly. But they showed me no mercy, not event the mercy of releasing me from this existence.

I can feel again every sharp burst of pain as they cut into me, never deep enough to kill, but deep enough to seemingly set me on fire. I cried out at first, but my voice became too raw as they continued. Perhaps it is good I ceased my screaming, for they left me for dead as a result, in an abandoned courtyard in the outskirts of the town.

Pulled back to the present, I glance around this place where I have suffered such injustice. It was a noble house, I can tell, but no one with exception for my tormentors and myself have set foot in this place for years, perhaps decades.

Glancing down at the leaf-covered ground, I begin feeling slightly sick as I see a crimson stain upon the dry, brown maple leaves. I know it is my blood, but some part of my mind is still disbelieving that I have actually been through what my body tells me. Coughing again, I am reminded of the pressure in my lungs, which must be bruised from the abuse they have taken. I have so many pains I do not know what it is they did to me, only that the wounds they have inflicted seem to have spread to every part of me.

As I pull myself to my feet the fire of pain flares up as the movement reopens many of my wounds. I gasp quietly, suddenly aware of the smell of my own blood. It is sickening; and I cannot seem to rid myself of it.

My hand wanders over my belt, and in the part of my mind that is still intact I realize that both swords are still in their sheaths. They did not bother robbing me; their actions were purely to make me bleed.

The rage that stirs within me at this knowledge pushes me forward, providing a temporary solution to my exhaustion. I use the longer of my two swords like a crutch, helpin me rise to my feet slowly and awkwardly.

Leaning against a post blackened by age, I dig my nails into the soft wood as another spasm washes over me. I need help.

But who?

Wondering this as I stagger forward, I am barely able to concentrate on moving my feet. I gasp and fall to my knees, just catching myself before I go down completely.

Shiro.

This thought comes to me suddenly, from some recess of my mind. I do not think for a moment about the problems with this notion, I can only concentrate on moving forward.

Seeming to fall out of consciousness, I drag my battered self through the back streets, my feet move along a path I have taken many times before. Every now and then I stop to collect myself, wondering each time if this is where it will end, if this is where I will finally die.

But each time I stop, I summon the strength to carry on from some dark corner of my psyche, and it is always just enough to move me until I must summon it again.

Somehow I am at the door, the door to his house. I pull myself together; I just need to get inside. If I can, he will find me either way. Concentrating on moving my hand, I pull the paper door open. Even it seems heavy to me in my current state.

It opens slowly, and through half closed eyes I see him, seated at the table, writing. Great relief floods me. He does not notice me right away, so I lose some of my sudden joy as the notion that I must attract his attention fills me.

Without my knowledge my lips move, producing a small whisper that I barely recognize as my own voice.

"Shiro."

He looks up, I can barely see his face, but I know he has seen me. His eyes widen at the sight of me, and after a moment a flash of recognition crosses his features.

"Kazu!"

My name sounds odd, foreign. It has been so long since I have heard him speak it. Relief consumes me, and knowing this, my body has finally used up the reserves that have kept me going this far. Falling forward, wanting to be taken back into the sweet dark abyss of unconsciousness, I hear him move to catch me. I sink into him, my head falling on the left side of his chest as my mind wavers on the border of awareness. I hear him speak, worriedly and with desperation. I cannot hear his words, but I take comfort solely in the sound of his low voice that I have been without for so long.

As darkness claims me I speak, barely conscious of the words passing my lips. Even as I talk I begin to feel numb, vaguely wondering if this will be the end.

"I'm such an idiot."

The words I speak follow me into my unfeeling state, seeming to hang in the air before fading into the air which blacker than ink, for it is nothing in itself.

This time as I awake from darkness I do it gradually, by my own will. I lie still for some time, breathing in and out slowly. I open my eyes after some time, aware of something warm on my forehead. When my vision becomes clearer I realize it is my brother's hand, and I see worry etched into his young face as he comes into focus.

"Kazu--" he speaks my name again.

I blink, sighing as I close my eyes. It is so hard to move, so hard to even stay awake--

"Kazu, thank the gods you're awake." My brother's eyes take on a sadder tone as he speaks, hanging his head. "I-- I was scared you would never open your eyes again."

I look up at my brother; surprised at this side of him I have never seen. Never in my life has he shown me such kindness, such concern. This was not at all expected, considering what had happened
"Kazu." I open my eyes again, unaware they had closed. He has tears in them, something I never thought I would see. He is trembling slightly, his head bowed as they roll down his cheeks. He takes my hand in both of his, and I feel them shaking.

"Don't-- don't ever leave like that again."

As he speaks I wish that I could give him a sign, something to show him that I understand. But my body is not cooperating, so I am only able squeeze his hand back as I fall back into a light sleep, aware of his presence by me all the time.

When next I open my eyes he is still by me, sitting up but sound asleep. I cannot help but feel odd watching his sleeping face. This is the side of my brother that is not seen by anyone, the insecurities he buries during the day are clearly visible when he thinks no one is looking. Even I, his own brother, have never really heard what he really fears.

He fears losing me, I realize. He fears for me, but not for himself.

It has always been that way, since we were children. He would get me out of any situation, no matter the danger to himself. I blink, as I suddenly understand why it is he never gave up on me, now and in the past

He wants me to succeed. He wants me to live a life he never can.

It is no secret; he will probably not live long. In his line of work many don't live past 30. So many samurai have died in the past, and even more are dying now. Someday, he may find himself against an opponent who will defeat him, and that is why he lives everyday to the fullest, since it may be his last.

He has tried to keep me from that world, and he has for the most part. Nonetheless I too carry the twin swords of a samurai. I am not in his class, being more suited to work in a lord's castle, while he is one of those who are sent into battle. He tried to do this; he tried to keep me from throwing my life away. Shiro has probably saved my life more times than I am aware of by simply pointing me in the right direction.

I suddenly feel wonderful, mentally if not physically. I've never appreciated my brother before this moment, and I know now why so many things he has done were done. Moving my hand slightly, I just clench and unclench it. It is enough to stir my brother, whose hand is still wrapped around mine.

Shiro blinks, trying to banish the sleep from his eyes. He shakes his head to clear it, and then he looks down at me, the two dark brown orbs still slightly unfocused.

"Kazu," he says quietly. I meet his eyes, and I see relief in them as he sighs. I need to speak to him, so I summon the strength to do so from that deeper part of me.

The words come awkwardly at first, but gradually it becomes easier. My brother's eyes are smiling, and I can see the beginning of tears forming in their depths.

"Ni-san," the word has gone unheard for quite some time, not having had the courage to call him my brother since I left here, months ago. "Ni- san, thank you."

I sigh, and as I do I feel my brother squeeze my hand, hearing him chuckle slightly. I continue.

"Thank you, for always being there for me. I can't," I pause, stumbling for words. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. Thank you, Ni-san, thank you-- for everything."

I cannot continue, my eyes are already closing under the heaviness of exhaustion. As my brother smiles at me, I see pure love radiating from him.

I have come home.