Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Lazarus Speaks ❯ Chapter 1

Lazarus Speaks

A random idea I had one night. I've been thinking a lot about death, and about madness, and a thin, thin line...

"In my blood like holy wine

You taste so bitter and so sweet..."

-Tori Amos, "A Case of You"

"I prevented the dawning of the morning, and wept; I hoped in thy word."

-Psalms 119:147

"And if I'm wasting your time this time

Maybe you never learned to take

And if I'm hanging onto your shade

I guess I'm way beyond the pale."

-Tori Amos, "The Doughnut Song"

. . .

He stared at the blade, surprised by it's lightness, and it's shine.

It seemed absurd in the cool morning light.

It held little of the promise of the previous evening.

Who was he to try and choose a new destiny? How did he think he could possibly ever become more than what he was now?

Absurd, it seemed, in this cold morning light.

As foolish as this silly blade he now held in his hands.

As pathetic as his quest for love had been.

A cool wind caressed his face, almost like a lover's touch. He shivered. Then, he jumped, jerking his hand back.

Blood welled in the palm of his hand, having grazed lightly over the slim blade.

He stared at his hand in awe. The gash was shallow, but the blood was bright. It stung.

And he whispered in wonder, "Sakabatou..."

. . .

we passed along the stair

we spoke of was and when

. . .

"You should be more careful." A soft voice behind him chided gently.

Startled, he whirled.

The sword slipped easily into the sheath, held ready at his side. His right hand hovered over the hilt. Surprise. "You."

The young man smiled. "Yes. Me."

"They said --- ... ... I was told you were dead."

"I have also been told the same of you." He said lightly. Then, the solemn green eyes searched his face. "I hadn't believed it, until I saw it for myself."

"I am not dead." He snapped. "I am tired."

"Yes. I, too, am tired. That's our fate, you know. To spend our whole lives dying for an inch of ground, just to say that we made it better. Just to claim that we made the difference."

"It's a lie. We can never make a difference."

"What about Kyoto?" He asked.

The response was cold, dismissive. And empty. "Kyoto burned."

"Ah. That it did."

. . .

although i wasn't there

he said i was his friend

. . .

"I'm sorry about the girl." He offered.

"Who told you about her?!" He hissed.

"We knew. The Shinsengumi always knew... That was why they were always so afraid of you."

"They? You don't claim to be a Shinsen anymore?"

He studied his simple green yukata, and the plain grey hakama. Gone was the teal jacket of the Shinsengumi, gone was the frayed cord of rank, and gone was that damnable white ribbon. That was when he noticed that he carried no blade. He looked much younger for it.

"I am still a Shinsen." He replied. "But I was never afraid of you."

He recalled their last battle, in the bloody streets of a dying city. It was true. There had been no fear in his eyes. And yet...

"Why did you want me to kill you?"

Surprise. He had not anticipated this. "... I was tired. I wanted it done with. And I... There was only you, my friend. I only trusted you."

Trust.

The word stung at him.

"But you don't want it anymore."

"No. Now I only want to live."

. . .

which came as a surprise

i spoke into his eyes

. . .

In one fluid motion, the blade was free of its wooden prison, and pressed close against that stark, white throat.

He had flipped the blade, almost awkwardly, but the gesture was almost natural.

Almost.

"Why are you here?!" He demanded. "Why come to me now, and why--- Why do you not carry a blade?!"

"Because I trust you, Himura-san."

And he smiled.

Himura-san.

. . .

i though you died

a long, long time ago

. . .

A chill washed over him suddenly.

And quite certainly, he knew.

He recoiled, keeping the blade between them, crossed in a defensive posture.

"What the hell are you?!"

"...A man. One who made a lot of mistakes, Himura-san. And one who hoped for something better. For myself, and for you."

"Why are you still around?"

The green eyes were sad. "There's someone who just cannot accept goodbye. I'm sure you know the feeling."

His face stung, as if slapped, but he knew it was only the vivid scar.

Slowly, his hand stole up to it.

"...Will it ever heal?..."

. . .

oh no, not me

we never lost control

. . .

The answering smile still held traces of remorse.

"Yes. In time, all scars heal. All wounds can go away. But only if you let them. Only if you stop probing at them with the point of a sword, and give them time to heal."

"And how do I do that?"

"Live." He replied simply. "That is all that there is, Himura-san."

. . .

you're face to face

with the man who sold the world

. . .

"Why do you call me Himura?!"

"Because it is your name."

He closed his eyes, and thought.

He could remember screams of agony, shrieks of anger, snarls through teeth gritted in pain.

He recalled the curses, and the shouts.

Some angry, "Chikousou!", some in awe, "Battousai-dono!"...

And farther back, so long ago, that it seemed little more than a dream, "Baka deshi!!"

"No one has ever called me Himura before. Not really."

"I understand. However, Himura-san, it is truly who you are."

"Is it?!"

"Battousai is part of who you were, not all of what you are. Your destiny is your own. And it is never, never foolish to fight for something better. Even against yourself."

. . .

i laughed and shook his hand

i made my way back home

. . .

"Goodbye, Himura-san."

"... ... ...my name is Kenshin."

He smiled, as if he had been waiting for this.

"Ah. My name is Soushi."

Quite suddenly, he let out a little laugh, like dry leaves scraping across a flagstone path. He lifted one hand gently. Cool fingers grazed the other man's scared cheek.

"Why, Himura-san! Your eyes have flecks of violet in them!"

. . .

i searched for form and land

for years and years i roamed

. . .

He left Kyoto before nightfall.

It would be many years before he followed the other man's advice.

. . .

He rescued a pair of young girls from the bandits who had abducted them on behalf of a prostitution ring. One of the girls was older, with hair, dark as night, and warm, earthen eyes.

And he had only crippled the bandits, not killing a one.

When the girl had whispered why?, he had responded simply,

"I will not kill."

And when she had asked him his name, he had made his reply quickly, with no hesitation.

"Himura... Kenshin."

. . .

i gazed a gazely stare

we walked a million hills

. . .

One day, he had stopped beside a stream, and thought of that conversation.

"You're still here, somewhere, with me, aren't you? Both of you."

And looking at his reflection, he had gasped. Trembling, his fingers had grazed his cheek.

The scar was still far too vivid, but his eyes...

His eyes were now violet, with no trace of amber.

. . .

i must have died alone

a long, long time ago

. . .

And as he sat here now, on the sundrenched porch of the Kamiya Dojo, he recalled that man, and that day, replying both in his mind.

. . .

Before parting, Soushi had reached behind his own head, to tug free his hair ribbon.

Free of the topknot, it spilled about his pale face, just past his shoulders, dark and glossy in the light.

And Kenshin had felt for his own topknot. Unwinding the ribbon, blood red strands then enveloped him momentarily, reaching past his own shoulders, to his back.

Carefully, Soushi had helped Kenshin gather those long strands into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck.

Another battle with the Battousai had been waged, another victory won on the shore of that sluggish river.

. . .

who knows, not me

i never lost control

. . .

"Oh, and Himura-san... ... ... If you should... see him again, tell him I'm all right. And tell him... Tell him it's all right. He can let me go now."

"I will."

As an afterthought, he cried out sharply, "Okita-san!!"

. . .

you're face to face

with the man who sold the world

. . .

He turned back towards him, and smiled expectantly.

"... If you should see her... Tell her... Tell her that I love her. And that I'm sorry."

"She knows, Kenshin-kun. She always knew."

. . .

who knows, not me

we never lost control

. . .

"Ne, Kenshin?"

He blinked, his eyes focusing on the boy standing in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Yahiko. I was lost in thought, degozaru."

"What were you thinking of?" Yahiko asked, scuffling to sit on the porch beside him.

"Someone... I used to know. ...An old friend."

. . .

you're face to face

with the man who sold the world

. . .

"Shouldn't you be practicing?" He asked suddenly.

"What's the point?" Yahiko complained, almost bitterly. "No matter how much I try, or how good I am, it's never enough, in the end, to make any difference."

"Yahiko, you are wrong." Kenshin said firmly.

"Huh?"

"You always make a difference. Always."

OWARI

written 07/24/02

final 09/24/02

. . .

The song is David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold the World".

I know this fic is not very good, but I had a bunch of ideas about Okita talking to Kenshin, and this came out...

By the way, yes, Okita is dead, and Kenshin is talking to his spirit, or what is left of it.

The he mentioned by Okita is Saitou, and the she is Tomoe.

The title comes from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", by T.S. Eliot.

"Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten the matter off with a smile

...To say, 'I am Lazarus, come back from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all' ---"

Gomen. I'll write a better one next time...

-Manda