After a VERY long hiatus, I've decided to post 
some of my unposted stories to the list. don't 
expect vast wonderous stories like 'comes the 
cold dragon' or 'hearts of ice' because I'm not 
that good, however much I would prefer I was 
^^




disclaimer:  All rights of all the characters 
herein belong to rumiko takahashi and the 
various syndicates that publish her works. I 
am but a poor writer that doesn't get paid for 
her work.



Shadowed Edge writing
Presents
Black Dreams
by Shadow Dancer


I can feel it, still.  The nightmares continue to 
haunt me, from when father sold me.  So 
many times he has sold me, for food, for 
money.  Rarely, rarely, did he ever care what 
happened to me while I was with those other 
people.

"Martial artists protect the weak!" he tells me, 
he teaches me.  'Who protects the martial 
artist,' I whisper in the depths of my mind.

Before now�I was a young boy.  I was sold 
to many people, to feed my father, to pay for 
the training that I received.  "Take my son," 
he told the people, "teach him what you 
know."

Many forms of martial arts I learned this way.  
Many...and yet sometimes he would sell me 
to feed himself.  Food being his only passion 
larger than his desire for me to learn martial 
arts.

Before, he had sold me to two brothels, 
without knowing it.  He saved me, all right.

Two days later.

I still wake up screaming, seeing into the eyes 
of old perverted men.  The pain of them doing 
_that_ to me.  I longed to beat them, to hurt 
them�but they were weaker than I.  Even 
though I was much much younger than them.

Father still apologizes for taking so long to 
retrieve me.  Then berates me for being so 
weak.  He promises to send me to another 
one, so as to 'get over my pain.'

He's an idiot.

After this last training ground, I want to go 
home.  I don't want to go back to the brothel, 
no matter what he wants.  I'm not a young boy 
anymore...I am almost a man in my own right.  
Nothing can make me go again, 
nothing...nothing.

Father jumps on a bamboo pole and yells at 
me to fight him.  I shake off my thoughts.  I 
need to focus if I'm to escape this training 
ground unscathed.  The guide behind me 
yells, about curses, and I start, turning 
towards him.  "What?" I exclaim.  Forgetting 
for one instant...

That's all it takes.  I feel a foot against my 
back, and then air slips past my face like 
silken cloth.  Then a splash, and I land in one 
of the pools.  I look up out of the water, 
thinking how easy it could be to just stay 
down here, breathe the water...and let go 
forever.

But then, that is giving up.

I never give up.

I push against the bottom of the pool, and yet 
feel a tug.  I look down, surprised, almost 
gasping.  Something holds at my pants. 
Something sharp.  I reach down, struggle, 
and finally get my pants free...and the thing 
holding them as well.  I hold it gingerly, and 
then push to the surface, towards the light.

I breathe in the air of life, gasping softly.  I pull 
up what was at the bottom and look at it, in 
my hands.  Tiny delicate hands hold an old 
blade.  I'm not an expert in weapons, far from 
it.  My father taught me primarily weaponless 
arts.  Only weaponless arts.  I turn the blade 
around in my hands, only barely seeing my 
hands.  Ignoring the yelling of Father.  It is 
maybe three hand spans long, this blade I 
rescued from the waters.  Again I note that 
my hands are smaller than before.

I put the blade down, and look at my hands.  
Smaller, finer, more delicate.  They show 
years of training, but are not as large as my 
hands used to be.  Maybe they are weaker 
than before.  I follow the lines of my hands to 
my arms.  They, too, are smaller, finer, and 
yet also they speak of years of training.  I look 
down to my chest.  It is smaller than 
before...and yet larger at the same time.  I 
pull open my shirt, looking...

Well, at least father has a reason to call me a 
'girl' now.  I look up at him, and finally hear 
him yelling how I will never be a man among 
men.  The guide mentions, quietly, yet loud 
enough that I can hear, that there is a 
temporary cure.  That hot water willl reverse 
the curse, until I get hit with cold water again.

Anger fills me as I glare at the one who did 
this to me, who forced me to become cursed 
like this.  "Stupid old man," The words come 
out of my mouth in a snarl.   He backs up 
slowly, holding his hands out. "You just _had_ 
to come here didn't you? Had to train me in a 
forbidden training ground.  Had to make me 
the best, just to appease your own inflated 
ego."  I know, deep inside, that mine is just as 
bad when I'm not hurting, but I ignore it for 
now.

My hand lashes out, almost of its own accord.  
Strange, I don't remember picking the blade 
up again.

Father jumps up and back from me.  Towards 
the pools. He reaches for a pole as he glides 
through the air...and misses.  His massive 
bulk slips into a pool with a resonating splash.

I turn away, not wanting to look.  My anger 
slips out of me as so much water pouring out 
of a glass.  Tears fall from my eyes as I think, 
'how much can he sell me for _now_?'  I turn 
to the guide, asking, "What did father promise 
you for payment?"  knowing that he has no 
money to his name.  He probably will bargain 
with my body...again.

"No need money sir.  Is enough for a change, 
yes?"  his eyes tell me differently.  The eyes 
are the windows to the soul.  



**********
it's been a while, I know, but hey, you write 
what you can when you can. sometimes work 
and life just leaves less time than our 
authored works demand of us.


I await the flames!!

Wings of Hope:
God gave you wings,
And a voice to sing,
Although you don't know why;
Powers so fair,
Suddenly not there,
Find your own reason to fly...
(c) October 22, 1998, Liath Hidson


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