Dear FFMLers
This is a short fanfiction based on several
scenes in the "Rurouni Kenshin" Kyoto story arc. As
always, C & C will be greatly appreciated but please
keep comments tasteful and constructive (I have a
rather delicate ego. ^_^;) Please send all comments
to gnbean@u.washington.edu. Thank you and I hope you
enjoy this little story of mine.
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RESIGNATION by B.S.N.
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DISCLAIMER: The characters of Rurouni Kenshin are the
property of Mr. Nobuhiro Watsuki, Sony, Shueisha/Jump
and all other associated parties. This fanfiction
does not intend to reap profit or benefit or any kind;
it was created for entertainment purposes only.
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There had been fireflies that evening. Although
it was not yet summer, the small, glowing lights had
floated aimlessly among the verdant grasses of the
riverbank. As I hastened along the edge of the river, I
remember how I had continued to gaze upon them; their
radiance had irresistibly drawn my eyes from the path
and transfixed them to the shore. Yet somehow, as I
looked upon those tiny luminous orbs, I had felt a
strange, unaccountable pang of sorrow and regret.
Perhaps the unfamiliar ache arose from the poignant,
ethereal beauty of the evening or perhaps it grew from
the bitter disappointment that I felt that night or
perhaps it originated from the heavy sense of foreboding
that had troubled me throughout the day. But I had
refused to consider these matters at the time; there was
work to be done and I had not the leisure to ponder them
seriously. Instead, I hurried onwards and essayed to
direct my eyes to the dim road before me. As I walked
around the bend of the path, the fireflies soon vanished
from my sight.
I recall how my companion and I had walked down
the road in silence, both of us deep in thought. Though
we spoke not, I knew where his thoughts lay; my own
thoughts were also fixed upon that place and its
inhabitants as well. I was also certain that the heart
that beat so steadily beneath his coarse, white yukata
was not as burdened and as pained as my own--his heart
was not experiencing the agitated throbs that beat in
mine.
Oh, how I wanted to meet him for one last time!
To bid him farewell! To see his familiar face! To feel
his slight, calloused hands pressed against my own! But
this desire was denied to me. There was a duty to be
performed, a call for help that must be answered and
the child that held my hand and the tall man that walked
quietly beside me kept me to my course. And though my
entire being strained to return to him, I sped resolutely
on, increasing the distance between him and myself.
He had left that evening. Without one word,
without one look, he had disappeared into the darkness,
alone. But no, this was not quite true, I knew. He had
spoken, he had looked, but his words and his gazes had
been directed at another, not at me. When I returned, I
saw her in the road, prostrate with anguish and distress.
Many hours had passed since his departure, but she had
not arisen from the spot where they had parted. She had
continued to whisper his name, though the night was chill
and the dew had fallen. It was then that the foreboding
within me shaped itself into a definite, distinct
feeling--a compound of sorrow, loss and regret, heavier
and more painful than the emotions that I had felt
hitherto. It was a cold and leaden weight that sank the
secret hopes that I had cherished so long within me. As
I gazed upon her, I felt its frost slowly steal across
my heart, my spirit and finally, my body, hardening the
lines of my face and freezing the tears that threatened
to overflow.
Later that night, as the sake coursed and
burned through me, I wept in my room, alone.
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It was then when I finally confronted the truth
that I had ignored for so long: It was she and not me
that he loved. Though my mind had accepted the reality
that I had essayed to evade for so long, my heart,
rebellious and incredulous still, would oftentimes
refuse it and re-create the same wishes, the same dreams
that had been overturned that one late spring evening.
As soon as I had thought that I had rid my heart of
these hopes and convinced myself of their foolishness
and impossibility, these same hopes would rise again,
as buoyant and as sanguine as ever.
I remember the time, shortly after that night,
when I had gone again to the dojo. As I stared at the
great wooden door, a wave of despondency and loneliness
washed over me. Everyone had left to follow him and
I was the only one who had stayed behind. What was
I doing there again? Why did I bother coming? Why
did I return to the place of my disappointment and
heartache? As I stood pondering these questions, the
bitterness and the despair within me increased. Yet
when I found the door unlocked, a sudden gush of joy and
expectation bubbled within me. Perhaps he has returned!
Perhaps he has decided not to go to Kyoto and has come
home! And as I ran through the portal, I was filled
with an exquisite happiness, an overpowering delight.
But instead of finding him in the courtyard, I discovered
his mortal enemy within.
Foolish, vain hope! To think that he would be
home waiting for me! He was gone, perhaps never to
return again. And he did not love me.
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Now I am here, packing my things for the long
journey to Kyoto. I am traveling to him to lend him my
aid--but that is all. The ache in my heart has not
abated, but my heart has ceased to hope. I cannot
repress my love for him, for in spite of my efforts to
root it out of my heart, another shoot sprouts, green
and strong and living still. I understand that my love
is unrequited, but I am determined to offer my assistance
for every endeavor he undertakes.
I will see him. . .and I will also see her by
his side. I am going to Kyoto to help him and to speak
to her even though my aid will bring more suffering and
sorrow to myself. The assistance I will render to him
will only serve to alienate myself further from him,
yet the help I will provide may give him--and her--fresh
hope and courage in the future, though it will deprive me
of my own. And though I know that my heart will
grieve, I also know that I have a duty I must perform, a
call for help that I must answer. It is the nature of my
office.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, this is the first fanfic that I
have posted to the FFML in over five months. If I'm
quite rusty (the poor quality shows, I know ^_^;),
please forgive me! ^_^;
For any of you who have been wondering why I
mentioned no names in this fic, I have left names
purposely out of this particular work because I wish
to intensify the first-person perspective of this
story. I felt that to use names would weaken this
effect (but whether it worked or not is relative--it
depends on the individual reader).
I took inspiration for this work from two
sources: Madamhydra's "Impressions" (one of her best
works, in my humble opinion) and Sakka-chan's
"These Changing Times" (another wonderful RK fanfic).
Again, C & C would be greatly appreciated.
Please send all replies ot gnbean@u.washington.edu.
Thanks!
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