Sakura

By Jia Zhang

I stuck the tip of the stick into the mud, etching lines inside the layers of wet dirt. The picture formed before me—of lines and shapes, and dots. I reached down, and with the tip of my finger, smudged away the mistakes in my image. I liked the smell of the earth, and the morning dew. The sun had only just risen from its slumber, and the birds still sang of their daybreak song. I scrunched my nose and my eyebrows together as I focused on my picture. I ran my forefinger under my nose, and formed a rather suspicious looking black moustache.

I heard a giggle.

“Urusai na!” I shouted angrily at Taeko, who made the unwelcome sound. She giggled again, the stick in her hand shaking lightly as she attempted to suppress her laughter at my face. Suddenly, my row of child soldiers broke out in laughter, their wooden spears falling to the ground.

“I told you before! Warriors aren’t supposed to laugh!” I shouted, infuriated with their crude behaviour, as I drew my kendo stick, resting it lightly upon my shoulder.

“Gomennasai, Keita-kun,” replied Kaori as she picked up the stick from the muddy ground by the riverbank. “But, but! You have a black moustache!” They all pointed at me and laughed. I growled silently at their sore attitude.

I wrinkled my nose, and furrowed my brows, attempting to look fearsome like my father does—and he often did that when he was angry with me, furrowing his large bushy eyebrows, and glaring at me with the same eyes he treats anyone who angers him.

“Urusai!” I bellowed furiously. I lifted the kendo stick off my shoulder, cutting through the air and making a woosh sound, and pointing it directly at the person in front of me. Yuuta cringed. “Now, listen here. I’m the samurai general, and you are my soldiers. Soldiers can’t be laughing at their leader now, can they?” My men shook their heads. “So can you all pay attention now?” I attempted to glare. They all nodded their heads. I rubbed the mud on my hand off onto my blue yukata, already dirty and stained. With the now partially clean hand, I wiped away the smear of mud from under my nose.

Yamato and Momo both smirked, but one look from me silenced them.

I stuck the wooden stick into my mud map, before I slid the kendo stick in through the belt of my obi, letting it hang there loosely as I often saw my father did with his sword. I desperately wanted a real katana, with a real blade and steal as sharp as a wolf’s teeth. Sometimes, if there were no servants around, I’d sneak into my father’s training room, and look at his old armour and sword. I took the sword out once—very heavy if I remembered—but the moment my sister saw this, she immediately took it out of my hands and placed it back into the sheath, returning the elegant weapon to its original dwelling. She told me to never touch father’s sword again, that I would get into a lot of trouble if I did.

She said if I didn’t be careful, next time I played with father’s katana, it would get angry and cut my fingers off.

I never touched father’s sword again.

“All right,” spoke I, lifting the wooden stick from the earthly ground, and pointing it at the various pictographs in the mud. “This is what’s going to happen. We’re going to charge the Hirako frontier through the Sarugaki forest, and then through the wide Urahara fields, down across the Sakisaga River, up and down the Aizen Mountain, and finally through the Hitsugaya brigade, who will do anything to stop us!” I beamed proudly at my plan of attack. I turned to my men, seeing a rather dumbfounded look on their faces.

“B-But…” stuttered Momo, as she peered at me with dark, wide black eyes. “Why do we have to attack Hirako-san’s farm—I mean, attack the Hirako frontier?”

I rolled my eyes impatiently. “Baka! Because, the evil shogun Kikumaru stole the beautiful magical hair comb of our great princess, Shizuka-hime-sama! And as the great warriors of Karakura, we must retrieve it for her! Right men?”

“Hai!” they replied in union.

“So, let’s journey on our quest to find O-hime-sama’s magical hair comb!” I withdrew my kendo stick—no! My sword! And with one courageous cry, I ran from the mud of the riverbank, and onto the dirt road, with my loyal warriors following my every stride.

Through the deep and dark Sarugaki forest did we trek, nearly sucked into the Earth by the mystic vine plants. We ran quiet and swift through the wide Urahara fields, careful as not to be grabbed by one of the hideous oni that guarded the area. With my men by my side, I traveled through the cold and deep waters of the Sakisaga River. Finally, we had reached the Aizen Mountain! Up and down we climbed the murderous mountain, not swayed by the danger, all for the glory of our hime-sama! Finally, we reached the hideout of the treacherous Hitsugaya brigade! They had sharp pointed weapons, and three sharp claws, and they were swift and merciless. But we did not retreat, and battled out perilous foes, and finally reached our destination—the Hirako frontier!

We passed all the great struggles, and there was our object of pursuit—the comb! So close! I reached passed the sharp pointed vines; my hand was so close! I could almost reach it!

“Hurry up, Keita!” shouted Yamato. “Before they catch us!”

“Quickly, quickly!” cried Kaori.

“I am! I am!” I replied in haste.

I reached in deeper, feeling the vines cutting into my flesh. I felt my fingertips brush the soft wood. A little more, a little more, I told myself, and you almost have it.

“Oh my goodness! Keita-sama! What are you doing?”

There! With one more great thrust, I grabbed the comb firmly with my hand. In that moment, I felt the hem of my yukata grabbed at the back of my neck, and I was lifted off the ground. I attempted to swing at this large opponent with my katana, but it had fallen hastily onto the ground in my attempt to get my hand past the vines to the comb.

Ritsuko-san glared at me angrily.

“What do you think you’re doing, Keita-sama?” she cried angrily as I fought my way from her grasp. “Look at you! You’re a complete mess!” She bent down, rubbing the mud and dirt from my face. “What would Aoe-dono say if he saw you like this?” She heaved a heavy sigh as she turned to my men.

“And look at you children, all of you a dirty mess…Shoo! All of you, go home and clean up before your parents get angry with you,” she spoke, waving her hands for them to go.

Yamato, Yuuta, Kaori, Momo and Taeko all sprinted away from the horrible woman who was attempting to straighten out my appearance. I felt a great sadness overwhelm me as I watched them go—perhaps this was what all great warriors felt like when they lost their men to some sinister and powerful villain.

I attempted to furrow my brows and glare at her, but she seemed not to notice as she dusted the dust from my hair, that had changed from this morning’s black to gray and back to black again. Ritsuko sighed as she stood up, grasping me by the hand.

“Come now, Keita-sama. Let’s get you home for a nice wash. It is your sister’s wedding today, and you must look presentable. Such a wonderful occasion it is, for Shizuka-sama to be wed to Himura-sama.” She smiled rather fondly. “Oh, if only I were that age again.”

“Looking like an obaa-san, probably you won’t be that age again,” I muttered under my breath.

She didn’t hear me.

Although I resisted with all my might, Ritsuko was much too strong for me. She was not a hefty or large woman, full bodied perhaps, but she had a lot of muscles from doing the washing for my House. I hated to admit it—she was my nanny. She was a constant nuisance. Ritsuko wasn’t old, but there were lines on her face and grays in her hair. She had a son as well, older than both my sister and I. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her—in fact, I’d rather spend my time being scolded by Ritsuko than my Father. But she always interrupted my battles.

I sighed as I walked through the town, her hand firmly holding mine. There were men and women all laughing and smiling, with flashes of multicolored kimonos before my eyes, swirling together into this magnificent rainbow. Everyone was excited at the ceremonies that would occur later this day. My sister was getting married, I knew. But I didn’t understand what the big deal was, what all the celebration was for. I was still a child, who didn’t understand anything beyond the confines of my own imagination.

I wanted to play my games, to run in the fields of wild flowers with my friends, to climb stony mountains and rocky hills, to smell the brilliant fragrance of the spring rain, to battle with my sword through my heated crusades. I didn’t care for any wedding.

I often tugged my hand, trying to escape from my captor. To no avail, Ritsuko would not let go, and vigilantly dragged me—yelling and cursing—back home.

“Now, we’re going to give you a good bath, and you’re going to wear that nice forest green yukata. You will look nice in that for Shizuka-sama’s wedding,” she spoke rather absentmindedly as she dragged me through the halls of the Aoe manor. This was my last chance to break away from that insufferable woman! As we turned the corner, I twisted my arm till I was behind her. Ritsuko yelped in pain, letting go of my hand as I sprinted down the hall away from her. “Keita-sama!” she shouted angrily.

I stopped a good distance away from her; I stuck my tongue out her, before darting away into my maze-like mansion, with Ritsuko’s voice becoming a distant whisper.

When I knew that she could no longer catch up with me, I slowed to a calm stroll. My feet made a light patta patta sound as I walked gently on the tatami mat. I knew I was in deep trouble now, having escaped from Ritsuko. I walk around the house in a dirty yukata, my face smudged with mud, playing around with my kendo stick (which I wasn’t supposed to be doing in the first place), searching for my sister.

“Onee-chan…” I muttered. “Doko dano?”

Whenever I got into trouble, I’d always look for Shizuka—it was a sly and devious thing to do, to take advantage of my sister’s vast amount of kindness and warmth. But I really was just silly a little boy—egocentric, troublesome, and a bountiful of energy. No matter what I did, or how much trouble I got into, I knew that Shizuka would always protect me.

I heard the sound of voices coming from some room. I looked around, my ears listening for the noises as I gently tapped my kendo stick on my shoulder. I walked a few more steps, before quietly sliding open the rice-paper door.

Her hands were gripped tightly on her lap as one of the servant girls wrapped the bright silver obi around the clear and white shiro-maku. The other servant girl was painting her face with white and red. Her hair was of a dark black like the wings of a raven, and her eyes a deep honey brown. She was looking down at the ground intently as the servant girls decorated her like a precious geisha doll. Shizuka was a true bride now—the tsuno kakushi placed elegantly on her head. She looked so beautiful, my sister, like some princess from a foreign land. But her face held such a look!

I didn’t understand anything at all.

“Onee-chan?”

She turned, and suddenly smiled, not with that warm comforting smile she would often give me, but a forced smile that only said assurance—she seemed strained by that simple gesture. She looked rather ill and drained, but that look was gone in a flash, only replaced by a brighter false smile. Only I knew that smile was fake.

“Keita,” she spoke. “Look at you, you’re so dirty. What happened?”

“Well—” I began, but I was stopped as I felt someone grab me from behind, tugging hard on the hem of my yukata.

“There you are!” cried an exasperated Ritsuko, her eyes flaring. “I knew I’d find you here!” She bowed towards my sister. “I apologize for his barging in on your preparations, Shizuka-sama.”

My sister smiled. “Not at all, Uohana-san. In fact, I wanted to see him…if it would be all right, I’d like to be left alone with Keita for a while. Please.”

Ritsuko seemed slightly annoyed, but said nothing, just nodding at my sister’s request, before departing with the servant girls, leaving us in silence. The two of us just stared at each other for a long time, seemly unsure as to what to say to communicate properly. Then, she motioned me to come closer. I was reluctant; I didn’t want to ruin the pretty doll. But with some persistence, I walked over to her side, and sat down. With a white handkerchief, she whipped the mud off my face—around the eyes, by the nose, under the mouth.

“Look at you, Keita,” she spoke ever so softly. “You’re an absolute mess. Father would be so furious if he saw you, today of all days. Now, why did you come looking for me? Hm?”

“I wanted to see you,” I answered. It was partially true.

She laughed lightly. She wrapped me carefully in her arms, cautious as so she would not be dirtied. I lay my head in her lap, staring up at her beautiful face. She smelled sweet like lavender. Her skin glowed like moonbeams, and her cheeks were tinged with a peachy pink. Her lips were soft and rosy, her teeth clean and white, and her beautiful black hair shined dark like the night sky. She was my beloved sister, my wonderfully kind sister, adored by all, yet a mystery to all who knew her.

Sometimes, she was such an enigma, an impossible puzzle. Even to me.

There was a passage of silence, haunting, deafening, threatening—like a beast breathing quietly down my neck. I sucked in air, and breathed out heavily.

“Are you really going away?” I asked suddenly, unsure as to why I even asked the question. Everyone had told me she would leave with Himura. Everyone told me she would be his wife. Everyone hold me that I wouldn’t see her again. But I never thought anything into their meaningless words. I wanted to hear it from her mouth, in her beautiful singsong voice.

For a moment, she was quiet, as if unsure how to answer her impossibly childish brother.

“Yes, I am,” she replied finally.

I allowed the information to digest.

“Are you coming back soon?”

There was a pained look in her eyes, a hidden anguish, a disguised sorrow from deep within. Cast away this gaze of hers! It doesn’t belong on her face! Shizuka was never sad, not like this. She was always smiling, loving, kind and unto all with a brilliant radiant light.

“No…I won’t be coming back, Keita,” she replied, quietly, softly, her voice almost to a whisper.

I allowed the information digest.

I knew I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Father, Ritsuko and all the others had been saying for a long time that she would leave with Himura to be his wife. But, in my childish daze, I never gave any time or thought to it. I always thought that she would just be there, right by my side whenever I needed her. I only knew later on how selfish I had been, demanding all of my sister’s love and attention constantly. I never bothered to return the favour. Instead, I was just the troublesome son of a great samurai that everyone simply had to deal with. Shizuka was never like that—she was always patient, and understanding. In many ways she was like my mother.

I had never known mother to begin with—she died when I arrived into this world. Shizuka used to tell me how beautiful she was, with rich black hair, warm hazel eyes, and a cream-like skin. Father was almost always away, or busy with something of the other. There was Ritsuko to look after my well being, but Shizuka was always the one to love me, to care for me, to worry about my safety and my happiness.

For a long time, we brother and sister were trapped in silence, listening to the sound of the birds chirping in the wilderness.

I wouldn’t see her again—the thought hit me like a mountain of sharp stones, cutting into my flesh and bones. She wouldn’t be my sister again. She would be a wife, a mother, and the matriarch of another grand and noble family that was not my own. She would be married, to a man that neither of us knew, and I would never see her again. I tightened my arms around her.

“I’ll miss you, Onee-chan…”

I felt her warm embrace.

“I’ll miss you too, Keita…” she replied.

I took out the comb I had rescued, and placed it into her hand.

“I’m sorry I took this without your permission and made you cry,” I spoke rather apologetically.

Shizuka’s eyes widened in surprise. Then, suddenly, a brilliant smile shined on her face. It was that old smile again. I smiled too, knowing in some little way I had made her happy.

“Arigatou, Keita…Thank you so much.” She held the comb tightly in her hand for a moment, smiling at it in this odd way. Then, she slid it between the shiro-maku and the obi, safely tucked away for no one to see. “Thank you, my otouto…I love you best, always remember that…”

She smoothed back my hair, kissing me softly on my forehead, before shooing me out of the room, to get ready for the commencement that afternoon. I gave her a fleetly look before I closed the door. I stood outside for a long time, alone with my thoughts. I placed my hand upon the place where she kissed, remembering of tomorrow, when she would not be here anymore. She wouldn’t scold me for scrapping my knee, or for playing with my kendo stick. She wouldn’t laugh at my jokes and antics, she wouldn’t smile at my stories. I had lost her to some man neither her nor I did know. It was her duty, Father had said. And that was the end of the conversation.

Suddenly, by some impulse, I turned around, and gently slid open the rice-paper door once again.

There she was, sitting quiet and immobile on the tatami floor. She looked so sad, so hopeless and confined, a caged bird singing its mournful tune. Suddenly, there was a panicked look about her as she placed her hand over the spot where the comb was hidden. Her eyes borne a ruthless pain I had never seen before, a look that her eyes should never have—such sadness they displayed! Those eyes would haunt me forever, speaking of a sorrow and tragedy I would not understand till years later, till I was the age she was. She brought her hand to her mouth, careful not to smudge her face. She looked as if she wanted to scream, to burst, to cry out in her cruel agony.

But I was still just a child, who could not comprehend her pain, could not comprehend her enigma, could not understand her tormented heart. And in her desperate moment of sorrow, I could not hold her and comfort her as she always did during my nightmares.

Oh, and this was her splendid nightmare!

“Seishirou…” I heard her whisper, trying her best not to cry, lest she ruined her face.

Silence boomed louder than thunder.

“Why does she have to leave?” I asked Ritsuko later that day when she was washing me for the wedding. “Why does Onee-chan have to leave? Why can’t she stay? Why does she have to marry him?”

Ritsuko sighed as she scrubbed the dirt from my back. She poured a bucket of cold water down on me, washing away the mess. I shivered. “Kuso! That’s so cold! Why are you using cold water for?”

“Well, it would have been warmer if you took your bath this morning!” she shouted.

I frowned. “Well?”

She was silent, seemingly reluctantly to answer my question. I knew she’d been trying to distract me, but I was too persistent. I was always persistent, which is maybe why I tended to get into so much trouble.

“Answer my question first.”

I growled lightly. “Fine.” She poured more water over me.

“Why were you at Hirako-san’s farm this morning? I heard from the villagers that you ran through Sarugaki-san’s garden, then you ran past Urahara-sensei’s shop, all yelling and screaming. Sakisaga-san also told me that she had seen you in her rice fields, again. Aizen-san also saw you climb over his pile of coal with those little monsters, and then you were attacking Hitsugaya-san’s chickens!” She sighed irritatingly as she poured more water over me, almost as if she meant to punish me with the cold.

“We were just playing…” I replied weakly.

“Well, you certainly will be in a lot of trouble when your father finds out,” said Ritsuko annoyingly as she scrubbed my back. “You wrecked a lot of Hirako-san’s plants. What were you doing when I found you?”

I wrinkled my nose from the cold. “I was looking for Onee-chan’s comb.”

The scrubbing stopped. “Comb?”

I nodded. “Yeah…It was Onee-chan’s comb, and she really liked it. It was made of dark brown wood, with a cherry blossom print on it. I stole it from her to use in a game, and I made her really sad. She cried. So I had to get it back for her, since I lost it when I was playing…”

The scrubbing did not continue. “Sakura? Did she say who she got it from?”

“No…”

The scrubbing continued.

The wedding ceremonies were for that evening. Ritsuko dressed me in my dark green yukata, combing my hair neatly so that I would be presentable. She rushed me to the temple, knowing if I were any later than I already was, Father would be angry with her. As expected, Father was already there. He was standing beside the priest and Himura, the man my sister would be marrying. I felt such a great anger towards him all of a sudden. He said hello and smiled at me when I approached. I said nothing. Father frowned.

Nearly the entire village was here for the marriage ceremony between my sister and her soon to be husband. I watched her walk through the mass of people, slowly approaching the temple with dread. All the people were cheering and smiling at this wondrous day. But on her face held such a look—she screamed. She screamed so loud, but no one heard her cries of desperation. Perhaps only I, but even for me, that sound could only be heard years later. Years later, I would remember of that scream—a cry of pain, of anguish, of desperation. She wept. But no matter what she wished and hoped, no matter what was right, no matter what she wanted, this was the way things were supposed to be—Father’s word was law.

She kneeled down before the priest, next to that man. The ceremony began.

I saw, as the priest spoke, the cherry blossom petals bleed off the branches, sparkling in the wind hues of pink.

“Keita,” I remember Shizuka saying once. “Do you know why Sakura petals are pink? Hmm?”

She smiled ever so lovingly down upon me as I lay in her lap. With a mother’s touch, she smoothed my hair, and in the sky shined the bright Earthly moon, amidst firefly stars and the whisper of the Northern wind.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I always thought they were pink because you liked them so much, and you always liked pink.”

She laughed, her voice singing.

“Well, Keita… a long, long time ago, the petals of the Sakura used to be white, like a snowy dove. But then, the people would bury the newly dead under the tree, and its roots would soak up the blood and slowly the petals began to turn pink…”

I sat up, and turned to her. “Is that true?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered with that ever-gleeful grin.

“I don’t believe you. Who told you that?”

She beamed brightly at the moon. “Seishirou. My friend.”

“Well, then he’s a liar.” I had intended to be stubborn.

“It’s true! It really is true, Keita!”

I scrunched my eyebrows together. “That’s so scary.”

“It is, isn’t it? That lying under the Sakura are the dead, such a chilling thought. But still…I like Sakura the best, because they are so beautiful, even tainted with blood.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Onee-chan?”

“You know, Keita, one day, when I die, I want to be buried under a Sakura tree. I want my flesh, blood and bone to all be absorbed by the Sakura. That way, I could be a Sakura tree too…” She smiled towards the sky. And such a queer and peculiar smile it was, so beautiful, so haunting, so troubling for my childish mind.

“I don’t want you to die. I’d miss you too much,” I said honestly.

She smiled at me. “I’d miss you too, Keita…so very much. I love you best, always know that.”

“I love you best…”

I didn’t see it coming; it was too fast for a child’s eyes.

I had heard her say those words so many times, in that ethereal voice. So many times, and I would hear them only once more.

Her moments were like lightening, fast and dangerous, but beautiful to look at nonetheless. In one quick motion, she unsheathed the sword Himura always carried at his side, moving away from him and Father. They all rushed to her, trying to make her halt this foolishness. But I didn’t move. I gazed curiously at my beautiful sister, as if I were unsure as to what she was doing—as if it were like the games of fairy tales we would often play. And she smiled at me, with that kind and loving smile.

It was the last time I saw that smile.

“I love you best…”

She thrust the sword into her body, her breath hitching as she pulled it out. Her soft, slim figure convulsed, collapsing onto the ground. Crimson spilled onto the pure white shiro-maku, staining all hues of pink and red. It was such a lovely mixture, a fascinating painting.

I found myself standing alone inside the chaos, watching the cherry blossoms rain down from the sky.

My sister had become a Sakura tree.

fin

Author’s Note: This story was originally written for a project in my writing class, but was actually inspired by a ficlet of mine about Kuchiki Byakuya from Bleach. It's odd where people can get their ideas from. I don't even know what the hell the purpose of the story is. So don't ask me. All comments are welcomed.