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I want to sleep and keep my eyes closed for as long as I need. I want to count until my throat dries up. I want to be able to pause time until I can feel each steady breath enter and exit my body.
At least, if the moment is only temporary, I want to wake up afterwards and find that nothing has changed while I was gone. It would be easy for me to pick up what I had left off. After all, nothing should and will exempt me from fulfilling my responsibilities.
…I don’t want to die. I just want to stop living.
The reason is simple. If I died, I would be hurting my family, the only people that I've ever known since I was born. The only people that have loved me since I was born.
Of course I know that I am loved. Although, I cannot understand why.
I have hurt them before and I still hurt them for every second that I am alive. Regret fills my rotten heart at those moments, yet, as if I have no humanity within me, I do not stop my cruel ways. I destroy those who I hold dear like I destroy myself. Whenever I am swallowed up by guilt, I foolishly convince myself that it was necessary.
There is good and evil in this world— if my role is to be evil, let me, and only me, shoulder the burden. As a burden myself, that is the only right thing to do.
Some things could not be coated in honey, some things needed to be said outright so its true weight could be felt. Thus, for my entire life, only thorns have exited my mouth. The only words I have ever said are coated in poison, never loving, never sweet. My paranoia and distrust have strongly affected my mind. I lie often— to exaggerate, to enunciate my worries, to try and prove that the world is dangerous. I hoped that I could instill fear in those I want to protect, and deter them from getting into unnecessary danger. I also hoped to myself that the world was as horrid as I convinced myself to be.
Even now, I am still not sure who the lies really benefit.
I am small, weak, and clumsy to a fault— yet, I arrogantly act as if I could stand tall, stay strong, and be competent. There is nothing about me that should be loved. I don’t deserve to live, I should not have lived.
Those people thought otherwise. They allowed me to live, provided me with affection and care, and treated me like I deserved to stand on equal footing as a human being.
Sometimes, I had even thought of them as naive and foolish. When I look at myself, I see filth. I see violence, I see worthlessness incarnate, I see a monster, I see defeat. I see something that, if called a human, would be an insult to all mankind. A stain on the beautiful tapestry that is life.
I want to break that reflection, tear it apart, tear myself apart, ruin and destroy every trace of the wretch in front of me. I am wrong. My existence is wrong.
What did they see me as? A son. A brother. A person. Something worth protecting, worth cherishing.
“Beloved,” they called me. “Sweet.” Their voices were cloyingly sweet, like honey.
I pity them. They must not be able to see my true nature. Even though I am coated in thorns, they still embrace me. Are they not afraid? Are they not disgusted? I felt their blood drip down their skins and onto my own. Their blood from the wounds that I caused. Their red blood, human blood, not black like mine.
It always filled me with fear. Their pain, that only I seemed to notice, was unbearable to me. Yet, when I try to pull away, to keep them safe, they always manage to drag me back with both words and actions. I couldn't resist. The fact that it was done by their will surprised me more than anything.
I am impressed by their ability to endure the curse that is my existence.
I truly pity them for their blindness.
Still, I love them despite their faults. Their love is akin to a ray of hope lighting up my world full of darkness. It makes me feel joy. I understand that I do not deserve to feel anything but pain. But I am selfish and greedy. I was born with an infinite emptiness within me that only takes but cannot give. From the depths of my heart, I have always desired love. How ironic, considering my pathetic existence. Only the affection and attention blessed upon me, those small bits of joy, could somewhat satiate that bottomless hole, that starving monster inside me. And my family never fails to provide such moments of laughter and intimacy.
I love them dearly. I cannot imagine a life without them.
That, thankfully, is not a lie.
Though, I regret being unable to express my own love in the same way they love me. It was just another testament to my lack of humanity. Therefore, for as long as I am alive, I shall abide by them as a way to repay their kindness.
I had promised them to not wish for death. So, I will not wish for it. Since my family still have their memories of me, I cannot stand for them to grieve.
I don’t want to die. I just want to stop living.
Is that the right thing to say?
If I could be granted one wish, just one insignificant wish… Even for a second, just a tiny, insurmountable, innocuous amount of time, I want my heart to stop beating, my blood to stop flowing, and my mind to be sent into a thoughtless bliss.
And, if the seconds drag on…
I suppose there will be nothing I can do about it.
‘What were you thinking? Why would you do that?’ Muichiro's screams seemed to shake the whole mountain.
Yuichiro clenched his fists, as both an effort to calm himself and quell the stinging burn on his hand. In his fury to throw hot water at that woman, he had also burned himself. His hand had turned red, but he still tried hiding it, to not arouse worry. ‘Look, she kept coming, even when I told her that there was no way we're doing this “demon slayer” crap! I had to make a point so she should leave us alone!’
‘But you shouldn't have thrown boiling water at her!’ Muichiro’s face contorted in a mixture of disturbance and fury. His lips trembled as he tried to search for the right words to use. ‘It's— it's barbaric!’
Yuichiro, as stubborn as a mule, refused to acknowledge the voice of reason whispering that he was wrong. His pride was leveraging, teetering on this very moment. It only took a few misplaced words, a slip in thought, to throw him from the edge. There was nowhere to go but to stand his ground.
‘I've tried to let her know that she isn't welcome here! I’ve told her again and again and again! But she just won't leave!’ Words were jumbled in his head. There was little chance of him coming up with a good argument now. ‘It was the only way I could think of!’
His brother was glaring at him. Gentle eyes now wide with fury and terror. Muichiro backed away— stumbling and shaking.
Is he scared of… me? The thought made Yuichiro nauseous.
‘That's cruel,’ spat Muichiro. ‘You're so… cruel. How could you even… Even if you hated her, she was still a person! How could you do that to another person?’
Person? If she was trying to hurt you, she’s nowhere near human. Yuichiro didn’t know when he had started to see the world differently. It had felt natural to think that way. For Yuichiro, the line between humans and animals, good people and bad people, had been blurred.
For as long as he could remember, it had been a situation of “us versus them.” At first, he had to help protect his home, and now, he was shakily shouldering the entire responsibility. It was easy for a human to die. Yuichiro had witnessed it twice. He did not wish to witness it a third time.
Therefore, he must stay vigilant against the mysterious, ominous world. Anyone outside was to be guarded against, anyone could pose a threat. Sweet words could be tricks, kind promises could be traps…
To Yuichiro, everyone was a force of evil until proven otherwise.
He shifted his fingers and curled his hand into a fist, making sure to press onto the burned skin as hard as he could. The sharp pain kept his mind sound, especially in the moment. Though Yuichiro managed to stop himself from vocalising how much he was hurting, his face contorted into an almost demonic expression.
‘Don’t you understand? How naive can you be? All those words— they were too good to be true! Get your head out of the clouds and focus on what’s in front of you! If you don’t, you’ll just be inviting Death to our door.’
Muichiro didn't reply.
‘Do you want to die?’ Yuichiro bit his tongue sharply. He had let his impulse slip, and such inauspicious things should not be said. He sighed harshly, and braced himself for whatever his brother would throw at him.
Muichiro remained silent. He was either too tired to muster up the strength to speak, or so frustrated that he didn’t bother providing an input.
The sun was high in the sky. Rays of light smashed through the window, becoming a wall which separated the two of them.
The heat had Yuichiro in its grasp; there was a sharp pain spreading from the top of his head, and he found it difficult to continue thinking straight. Even his vision had blurred once or twice out of anger.
I have to get out of here. I just need to cool down. I can’t think. When I cool down, I’ll come back, and I’ll… solve this. Somehow.
‘Get out of my way.’ Although Yuichiro's voice was harsh, Muichiro did not move. He kept his head lowered, and his shoulders hunched.
‘I’m not going to say it twice!’ warned Yuichiro. It was a fruitless effort.
Yuichiro grit his teeth and shoved Muichiro to the side, controlling his force so as to not knock his brother over. He even made sure an arm was outstretched in case Muichiro actually fell. Although Muichiro stumbled, he did not fully topple over, much to Yuichiro's relief. Seeing that his brother was all right, he glanced around to find a logical excuse to leave immediately. The water jug was open, and it was only filled halfway.
That was the open Yuichiro needed. He made a beeline for the empty buckets of water in the corner of the house. ‘I’m getting more water.’
Yuichiro balanced the long piece of wood with buckets attached to either end on his shoulder, ignored whatever motion his brother had made, and left without turning back.
With a mind blank from anger, it took Yuichiro a while before he realised he was at the stream. His eyes stared at the water, serenely flowing; the sun, casting shimmering rainbows on the rippling surface; the rocks lying calmly on the stream bed.
Yuichiro took a deep breath and lowered the buckets on the pebbles as water lapped at his feet. Yet, when he tried to tip the bucket to scoop up some water, his legs wobbled violently, sending Yuichiro to fall sideways on the pebbles. He jumped up with a pained hiss as soon as he hit the ground— the rocks were as hot as coals. Yuichiro sat on his heels, protected from the heat by his crude sandals, staring at the scenery before him dazedly.
Hand burned by boiling water, legs stung by heated stones. The sunrays only increased in temperature. A cacophony of words attacked his mind, making him disorientated.
A sudden surge of fury shot through him, and he quickly stood up while tossing the basket to the side.
People’s darkest emotions cannot be fully suppressed. Like a teacup which has overflowed, Yuichiro’s negative feelings escaped the cage that was his rationality, and made themselves known.
‘Why—!’ Yuichiro kicked at the water, hands balled into fists. He heaved, hunching his shoulders. ‘Why can’t everything just stay how it is? Why did she have to barge in! Who cares about slaying demons, who cares about our ancestors!’
‘Can’t even live normally! Can’t do anything without looking insane! I'll admit it, I don’t know what to do! What do you want me to do?’ He picked up a rock and threw it into the stream, splashing cool, refreshing water everywhere.
‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Stop trying to put ideas into Muichiro’s head. I’ve got enough to deal with, now I have to try and stomp out that stupid dream, too? Don’t you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re asking kids to go fight! Is your “corps” just full of children? Left to suffer and die and rot away like dogs?’ Yuichiro saw that woman's impassive face, always wearing the same expression, unmoved by the arguments he threw at her. It made his anger flare up even worse. ‘Descendants? If we were the descendants of swordsmen, then why are we poor woodcutters? Huh? Tell me that! Why hasn't any noble come to pick us up, to help us, their own blood and flesh?’
A dam had broken in Yuichiro's mind. He was unable to stop the pent-up hatred and fear from flooding out. In his eyes, half-blinded by the shining sun, everyone was the enemy.
He felt no different from a cornered prey. The entire world was hunting him down, he was sure of it!
‘I hate everyone! Why did you two have to die? And just leave us here! What were you thinking?’ Words belonging to his father echoed in his mind. Yuichiro stumbled in the water, but he didn’t fall.
Instead, he stood tall and let out a cold laugh. ‘Helping people? If helping people brought so much good, why are you dead? Always going on and on about your— your— your virtues, or whatever! See what happened? You fell off a cliff and smashed your skull open! Going outside in a storm? Just for some useless herb that wouldn't bring a dead person back to life. You did all that, you had to strain yourself, and now we can’t even bury you because all there’s left of your body are bits lying at the bottom of a ravine. It wouldn’t have done anything, anyway! What were you thinking, Dad?’
‘Mum, too! You— getting sick and not telling anyone, were you asking for death? I've told you again, and again, and again to lie down and rest, but you just kept on working! Is it because I was a child, and nothing I said mattered, because I didn’t know anything? Then, when you're bedridden and so ill you can't even speak, you keep going on about wanting to do chores… You don't want to be a burden? Then you shouldn't have let things get this bad! Your sickness is a burden! If you didn’t want to trouble everyone, then maybe you should’ve mentioned being ill in the first place. If we had gotten your sickness treated early, then maybe, you wouldn't have coughed your way to death!’
‘And…’ Yuichiro's mind roamed to the source of his headaches, the sole reason why he still remained alive. ‘Why can't you just grow up? You've gotten taller, you've gotten stronger, but it's like your head hasn't catched up to your body yet. There's no such thing as demons, demon slaying isn't real, and helping people doesn’t mean they'll help you back. Get yourself together! Stop being ridiculous, stop being unreasonable! I get so sick and tired with how childish you are that I can't even sleep well at night. What can I do to get you to just shut up? Just shut your mouth! If you want to be set up as a laughing stock, as a failure, then don't drag me into it! I've got enough to deal with, and you only make things worse!’
He punched and kicked the air, roaring so loud it could reach the heavens. ‘No one listens to me! Do you all just hate me? Am I so— so rotten that none of you find my words meaningful anymore? Why am I even here, then? Why keep me alive? What use am I if whatever I do, or whatever I say, changes nothing?’
Yuichiro could recall his father’s little fairytale. Didn’t he say that pointless anger harms the body, and that it caused people’s blood to go black? If I got cut up, I bet ink would flow out of me instead of blood.
Yuichiro dug his hands into his hair, as if desperate to rip it out. He did, indeed, rip a few strands out. The roots they left stung horribly. ‘Despicable. Useless. Weak. Disgusting, pathetic, filthy good-for-nothing—!’
The only thing that stared back at him was his own reflection.
Dazed from expelling most of his pent-up frustration, Yuichiro sank to his knees in the middle of the stream, heaving painfully as if he'd gotten into a brawl. The water flowed to his waist.
‘I’m sorry.’
He doubled over and clawed at his face, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip so hard it could’ve bled. Like a mantra, he repeated those words over and over again, unsure if he completely understood them.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say those things. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help it.’ Only now did he notice the tears, hot, salty droplets dribbling down his cheek. Something slunk back into the shadows. ‘I’m really sorry. Sorry, Muichiro. Sorry, Mama. Sorry, Papa. I really am sorry.’
He chuckled quietly, choked with tears. How ironic. Apologising so profusely— yet who could hear his words of atonement? Stuck in the middle of a wood, the leaves easily muted his voice. There was no point in apologising if the other can't hear it.
Even more ironically: Yuichiro was thankful none of them could hear his pathetic words of apology.
Was he just trying to excuse his cruelty again? Did he think that apologising to ghosts would somehow lighten his sin?
It was at his weakest that Yuichiro's innocence fully revealed itself to the light.
‘It’s just— I’m just so tired. I just want everything to end. I don’t care anymore.’ His voice was barely above a whisper, carrying a note of pleading. ‘I just want things to stop. If time could just— pause, or— ugh—!’
Yuichiro drew out the groan, which ended in a muted scream. He shifted his position to be sitting in the water while hugging his knees tightly. Water lapped at his skin. Burning instead of cooling.
‘I’m so— I just don’t want to deal with anything.’ He was hiccuping with how much he was crying. His words slurred as his lips barely parted. ‘I want to give up. Just let me leave. I can’t survive here, I can’t survive out there, I can’t survive anywhere. I can’t do anything. There's no point in me being here. I can’t— I can't do anything. I'm useless.’
Aimlessly, Yuichiro brought his right hand to his neck. The hand could envelope the entire back of that neck, only half of that neck. He pressed against the muscle, digging in with just the inside of his fingertips, pinching the thick skin. The fingers dragged down, slowly, harshly, feeling the resistance of cartilage beneath flesh. They pressed against his windpipe for a split second, making him wince— just for that short moment.
‘I wish I could just sleep and not wake up.’
His eyelids lowered; his hand dropped lifelessly into the water. Exhaustion fully consumed him as the water rippled, the trees grew swirls, and the sky seemed to crash into the ground.
He had been selling firewood with his father. While his father was talking to their customer inside her home, he stood at the main gate, next to the bundles of wood.
Yuichiro watched the children of the house play with sticks and flowers. They pranced and chased each other in the front lawn, with smiles that seemed to distort their features. He had no need for those things, Yuichiro scoffed to himself. He believed he was above “playing around” like a child. Then, an older boy ran from another house deeper in town, a stricken look upon his face.
Yuichiro knew he shouldn’t listen. He had no place, no business, no identity except being the son of the woodcutter who occasionally came down to town to sell wood.
But the boy had ignored him. If they treated him like someone invisible, shouldn’t he stay invisible? And invisible people, as he knew, could do anything they wanted, as long as they remained unseen.
Curiosity finally overcoming his sense of righteousness, Yuichiro slowed his breathing and tried opening his ears.
‘Mrs. Yamamoto gave birth. Two babies.’
‘Twins?’ A gasp. One not of joy, but of horror. ‘Isn't that—’
‘Bad luck? Yeah.’
A girl cried. ‘Oh, no, I don't want Yuki-chan to get bad luck…!’
‘It's fine.’ Reassuring tones. ‘It’s going to be okay. One baby’s gonna die, and it will take all of the Yamamotos’ bad luck to the underworld.’
Yuichiro felt all the muscles in his upper body relax, and he slumped slightly against the gate. But, his legs steadied, helping Yuichiro to continue quietly listening in. Nothing else registered in his hearing except for the children’s chatter.
‘Which one would die?’
There was a thoughtful pause. ‘Probably the older one. A storyteller told me once, children are polluted by the evils of the world the moment they are born, and they have to do good and repent to get rid of those evils as they grow up. Since the older one was born first, it has been tainted by more evils. So, the younger one, with less evil, gets to live.’
Out of the corner of his eyes, Yuichiro could see two heads nodding vigorously. Then, the girl’s voice rang out, her sweet tones clashing with the content of her question, ‘What do they do to the older baby? Does it just— go? Do the gods take pity on it, and take it away to heaven?’
An awkward silence dragged on. The adults could be heard talking from inside the house. As his curiosity and apprehension only grew larger, Yuichiro leant forwards even further, swivelling his body around slightly. He spotted the boy that had just arrived with his teeth bared and his brows furrowed and a hand behind his neck.
He knows how. He just doesn’t want to say it.
The boy blew air out of his teeth, sighed slowly, and shook his head before replying. ‘Well… if you want to do it quickly… then you can snuff out the baby by putting wet paper on its mouth and nose, so it can’t breathe. Or, you could drown it. It’s… it’s not too difficult.’
Lost in his thoughts, Yuichiro stumbled forwards, but managed to catch himself with his hands planted on the ground. Needles suddenly pierced his back, and Yuichiro hastily straightened himself and looked straightforward to be met with the gazes of those children.
He hid behind the wall and covered his mouth. Don't notice me. Don't notice me.
Truth be told, he didn't care what they thought of him. Yuichiro thought that they looked down on him due to his constant irritated presence, evidenced by the frown on his face that never let up. Perhaps they didn't care about him at all— he was never present in their lives. In the end, the children of the town ignored Yuichiro and treated him like smoke while they approached his father from time to time in a quite comfortable fashion.
Yuichiro didn’t mind being ignored. It was better than standing out, having to make relations, having to talk, to be able to entertain another person. He was unable to do any of that. So, being ignored was infinitely better than being looked at.
Yuichiro didn't dare to look up. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground while trying to keep his fists to his sides. A drop of water trembled as it dripped from his chin, staining the dirt below a darker colour. He couldn't tell whether or not it was his tears or his sweat.
The children were still looking at him— their stares needles that pierced his skin until it touched bone. Scrutinizing. Waiting to see what he was going to do next. Judging. What thoughts were occupying their heads?
Stop it, stop looking at me… Yuichiro's hands trembled slightly. How incredibly shameful he felt, standing there, without anything to shield him from those eyes.
‘Yuichiro.’
He didn't realise he had stopped breathing entirely. Since when? But it was difficult to take in air. It was like his lungs had turned to stone. Weighing down his body, rooting him in place.
‘Yuichiro!’
He looked up, greeting a familiar face, as a wave of relief lightened the tension on his muscles. ‘...Dad.’
His father smiled down at him, but there was a certain nervousness which cracked his perfect mask. ‘Come on, let's go home. We've sold enough firewood for today.’
There was still a sizable batch remaining on his carrier. The sun had just passed its highest point in the sky by a small margin. Still, Yuichiro obediently followed his father. The stares, by then, stopped.
On their way home, his father kept him close, closer than usual, holding his hand tightly despite his protests.
‘Let go of me.’ he muttered, cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. That was only half of his worry. His previous anxiety had yet to disappear; he did not want to let his father know how shaken he was.
‘No. I like holding hands with my son!’ His father laughed, swinging their intertwined palms back and forth. He continued chuckling and teasing for a while, before turning to the sky with an unreadable expression on his face.
Brows relaxed, eyes wide, lips pinched together, leaving creases in his chin. Yuichiro felt his father squeeze his hand, one big hand enveloping one small hand in a reassuring hold.
‘Yuichiro, don’t listen to superstitions.’ He muttered under his breath, and Yuichiro was unsure who he was talking to. ‘They’re a bunch of made-up stories made to scare kids.’
I’m a kid, he remembered thinking, feeling sick from the growing pit in his stomach, and it scared me.
Silently, Yuichiro returned the hold.
Even though his father had told him to shake it off, he couldn’t. Even though his mother, after hearing his father’s retelling, reassured him that it wasn’t real, he couldn’t believe her. His mother even grew borderline hysteric whilst trying to convince him. He could still feel both of her hands digging into his shoulders, as a wildness overtook her gaze. “I never want to hear you talk about dying again.” She was half-reprimanding, half-begging. “Promise me, promise me, Yuichiro. It’s all nonsense, you don’t deserve to die.”
Out of panic, he had promised his parents to never think about such things ever again.
Yet, how could he forget? The story touched his heart unlike anything else; it burrowed and settled into a small corner of his mind.
It reminded him of himself, his nature, and how that contrasted to his younger twin.
From then, a thought swirled within him, surfacing whenever he made mistakes. It slipped off his tongue, a moment of wonder which tainted the air with the smell of death.
‘If you had killed me back then, would your life have been so unlucky?’
Yuichiro had dreams about it. Their frequency had increased ever since the death of his parents. Those vivid visions stuck with him, digging and wriggling into his consciousness like worms to corpses.
The sun would twinkle softly, its rays bright enough to illuminate the world without being too harsh. Not a single cloud blocked the sky’s vast expanse of blue. A cool breeze twirled fallen Ginkgo leaves, turning them into small tornadoes of gold.
Yuichiro took a deep breath. The smell of fresh earth and aged wood. Most notably, the air was clean. Cleaner than he remembered for 11 years.
This world was clean, and free of cruelty.
He closed his eyes. Birds chirped, leaves rustled, and children laughed. He opened his eyes to look in the direction of that sound. Not children. Just a child laughing, gathering leaves in his arms, then tossing them into the sky and letting them fall in a golden shower.
Those turquoise eyes showed nothing but a pure, radiant, childlike wonder. That child was not bound by any shackles, as free as the birds which sometimes danced overhead. It was what he was destined for, it was what he truly deserved…
Like clockwork, Yuichiro turned to the right, where a familiar house resided. His eyes traced over every detail, every ridge in each wooden plank that made up that home. To none of his surprise, there was less grime in between the crevices, and the wood seemed to have been rotting much less.
A voice called, as clear as a songbird:
‘Come home! Dinner's nearly ready!’
The child patted the leaves off his head, eyes glistening. ‘Okay, Mum! Wait a bit!’
Another voice rang out, accompanied by a boisterous laugh. ‘If you don't come back soon, I'll eat everything and you won't have any!’
‘Ahh! Don't do that, Dad!’ But he had a grin on his face. With a light chuckle, he dashed towards his parents, who could barely be seen past a thin veil of mist.
Yuichiro didn't follow. He only looked on while his fingers curled, nails coming to dig into his palms. Blood would spill, staining the ground into a deep reddish-brown. Yet, he smiled— a small, stiff smile accompanied by wide, unblinking eyes…
A perfect world, an ideal world. Yuichiro’s own little fantasy. He envisioned this small family with their little house in the middle of a vast forest to be a scene in a snow globe. Once, he got to see this western toy while a merchant passed by the village. His father had rented it momentarily for him to see. He was fascinated by the joyful little world contained in a glass sphere. A joy he could see, but not touch. Not intrude.
A dream. A beautiful dream that had not been stained by his existence.
Beautiful dreams like this should make someone happy. So, Yuichiro should feel pleased. He should smile. He should be happy. He was happy.
He was content in telling himself that he should be glad for those people; those people that have never known him their entire life.
Yuichiro was content, he was sure of it.
Those were the ideas he repeated constantly in his head, so that no doubt may remain about the nature of his existence.
If I never existed, the world would be so clean, so beautiful, so perfect…
If I never existed, the world would be so clean, so beautiful, so perfect…
If I never existed, the world would be so clean, so beautiful, so perfect…
If I never existed, the world would be so clean, so beautiful, so perfect…
If I existed, the world
I never existed, the world be clean, beautiful, perfect…
I existed
If I …
His body was in the water, but his head was in a land far away. Yuichiro sniffed, took a deep, shuddering breath, and shakily picked himself up. Under the watchful eyes of the sun, he staggered towards the buckets, and resumed his duty.
Yuichiro shuffled back to the house, balancing both buckets filled to the brim with cool, fresh water, pressing him down like iron weights on his shoulders. Every step he took was unstable and slightly slippery, accompanied by a strange floating sensation. He teetered from side to side, the water sloshing, threatening to leave the buckets’ confines. For every drop of water that fell to the ground, Yuichiro's exhaustion grew even more.
Still, Yuichiro bit his lip, ignored the rhythmic throbbing of pain in his head, and tried his best to put one foot in front of the other with thought and care. The sunrays have weakened, just enough for him to not squint while walking, allowing his field of view to open.
As he walked, he thought about home, and about the person that he had abandoned. Even if it were only for a few hours, guilt had already been crushing Yuichiro ever since he left in such a rude and irritating manner.
What would Muichiro be doing now? Yuichiro hadn't left any instructions or tasks, so would his younger brother be playing around? Of course, that was the most plausible conclusion for someone with no worries and no sense like him. All day, going on and on about saving people and helping people, even more now that that woman had come over. How could someone like that even have work at the top of their priority list.
Yuichiro shook his head sharply. He mustn't assume so soon. Even though Muichiro was utterly unreliable at times, surely, he should've found something to do by now. He wasn't as incompetent as Yuichiro had made him out to be— or so Yuichiro hoped.
Those were the two proposals. For the first, Yuichiro supposed he'd have to raise his voice again. Scolding Muichiro was not something he liked to do— in fact, he detested it— but he endured the pain in his heart in order to toughen up his brother. In his opinion, this was the most effective way to make sure an impact was left on someone. It would also help in the long run, where Muichiro would be able to cast away his undesirable and ugly past in order to grow and reach further than ever.
For the second, Yuichiro took a while to carefully turn over his approach. Supposing their current cold war had not ended, he would resume daily life as normal. They would keep interactions to a minimum, and barely exchange any words. Yuichiro understood that, perhaps, it would be better for them both, since their ideas seemed to clash so violently. If they had nothing good to say, it was best to not say anything at all. A part of Yuichiro had been unreasonably, childishly, ridiculously frustrated by this turn of events since the day it began— the little voice inside him threw a fit over wanting to talk to Muichiro again, as if it knew this period of silence would profoundly hurt both of them. Yuichiro took this part of himself, locked it in a cage deep inside his heart, and left it there to struggle. This action made him delirious and emotional at times, but if this helped maintain the stalemate between them, then Yuichiro was willing to do so.
Suddenly, a third option opened to him: What if this had been the last straw for Muichiro, and that he had finally left for good?
A familiar sense of unrest rose in Yuichiro's heart; his knees buckled slightly as the buckets on his shoulders seemingly doubled in weight. Nausea hit him like a whip, making him nearly dry heave and drop the water. This sick feeling in his stomach, heart, and mind was an involuntary reaction— one Yuichiro could not make head nor tail of.
He understood that it would be better if Muichiro escaped from this house that could barely be called a home, and freed himself from the oppression that was his miserable older brother. He had thought it over, again and again, and trusted that it was a path to a brighter future.
After all, Yuichiro did not wish for anything less when it came to his precious little brother.
Yet, why does this thought disturb him so much? Why does the idea of Muichiro abandoning him terrify him more than pain, more than death? Why was Yuichiro so averse to what he believed was right? Why did he wish for his own wish to not be true, and that he would return home to a familiar face? Why could he not stay true to his beliefs, be steadfast, and not wander between realms of thoughts?
Had he truly gone insane?
Was this Yuichiro's last straw?
…My head hurts.
Yuichiro took a deep breath to try and slow down the mess of rapidly cycling thoughts. He observed his surroundings and noted down the things he saw in hopes that it would ground him and prevent him from spiralling like he had earlier.
Yellowish-brown dirt with small patches of pale green grass dotting the ground. The sky, clear of clouds. Ginkgo trees, shedding their golden, fan-shaped leaves, littering on two mounds of dirt.
Yuichiro blinked.
Two crudely-built mounds of dirt, with stones of similar sizes surrounding them.
He gulped, then approached the graves he and his brother had constructed themselves. Yuichiro could recall his hands digging the holes, filling them with dirt, then patting down the shape as if it were yesterday.
He slowly lowered the buckets onto the ground, then walked over to the graves while carrying one bucket. He carefully brushed off the Ginkgo leaves and various debris that had accumulated so far, before pouring some water on each mound of dirt. It was just enough to clean the graves, but not too much that the dried dirt would turn into mud.
Satisfied with his work, Yuichiro knelt down in front of the graves, situating himself between them. His hands clasped in front, and he lowered his head whilst directing his gaze to the left grave.
Where Mother lay.
After his father disappeared into the night, Yuichiro hesitated before leaving the door and going to his mother's side. His feet had been glued to the floor for only half a minute, but to Yuichiro, it felt like hours before he was able to make a decision. He kneeled next to his mother, heart breaking even further the moment he met her pale, sunken face. When touched his mother’s forehead, it was scorching hot. When her hand came to caress his cheek, it was freezing cold.
Muichiro was crying, and so was he.
Yet, his mother only had a smile on her face, one that carried an emotion he could not understand. In a hoarse, breathless voice, she spoke without wetting her lips. “Mu” meant “nothingness” while “Yu” meant "existence". Two clashing characters, stark opposites.
His mother shook her head at that interpretation. She and their father had named so in hopes that they could balance each other out. One had everything, one had nothing; combined, they could each have something.
She wished that they would not burden themselves by their roles, but that they would be able to walk, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, towards a brighter future. Those words burrowed their way into Yuichiro's heart, settling comfortably in it. He promised his mother earnestly that he would follow them.
Afterwards, she said knowingly, “Yuichiro, go stand by the door and wait for your father.” Yuichiro’s guilt grew immensely at those words. She must've noticed his fidgeting, his uneasiness, how he anxiously gazed towards the door every so often… Even while on her deathbed, his mother remained incredibly attentive. With her soft assurance, “Muichiro is here, I will be taken care of. Go.”, Yuichiro reluctantly left. After all, to be filial, one had to listen to one's parents.
He stood where he was told, with hands clasped so tight, each individual bone seemed to touch. Yuichiro racked his brains for every kind of prayer he had heard. Whether it was from a passing monk in the village, cries from the townspeople themselves, or his own parents’ serene murmurs— he recited them with his whole heart, praying for his mother and father’s safety.
Still, Yuichiro was only a ten-year-old child. He could not divide his attention between two major events. Combined with his heightened emotions and worsening mental state, Yuichiro's perception began to deteriorate. He could no longer feel the wind whipping against his skin, no longer hear the deafening booms of thunder and quiet sobs of his younger brother, no longer smell the wet, musty rain tainted with the smell of death. All he could focus on were the prayers that he had not believed in until that moment.
It was when the storm quietened— just for a split second— that a tragic wail pierced through the air, tearing through Yuichiro's whole being. He whipped his head around so quickly he swore he could’ve heard a crack. His heart filled with dismay, and the thousand thoughts in his head halted.
Muichiro lay across their mother's chest, crying so loudly that he could rival the storm outside. His tiny body shook and heaved, while her body lay as still as a rock.
Yuichiro's feet felt rooted in place again. He could only stare. Hands still clasped. Mouth no longer uttering prayers. Eyes no longer shedding tears.
She was buried with her kind smile eternally frozen on her face.
The recollection did little to calm Yuichiro. Regret showed through his tormented expression as a dreadful thought resurfaced: He was not able to fulfil his mother's wish. There was a stark difference in power within the household. Nothing of his mother's hopes could be seen. No “hand in hand”, no “shoulder to shoulder”. At this point in time, they were unable to see a brighter future. Yuichiro bit his lip and turned his head to the right.
Where Father lay.
That day, after the storm had let off, when the sun had barely peeked through the horizon, Yuichiro was already sprinting out of the house. He didn’t know why he had been in such a hurry to leave home.
Perhaps, he wanted to escape the suffocating presence of death. His mourning brother and his departed mother turned the house cold. Yuichiro felt a weight press against his lungs, preventing him from breathing, making his head spin… In a moment of panic, Yuichiro did what he did best: he ran away from the things that were causing him discomfort.
Perhaps, he felt a budding hope, and chased after that euphoria. Yuichiro saw the bright sun and naively built an expectation in his head. His father would still be alive, and he had not abandoned Yuichiro and Muichiro… There would be someone there to help properly send off his mother.
Yuichiro’s mind was focused on locating his father as he ran. The dirt below had turned into slippery mud, making Yuichiro nearly trip a few times. That did not stir him away from his goal. Even though the rain had washed away any trace of a footprint, Yuichiro seemed to know where he should head towards. Something was leading him forwards, something bright, and brimming with hope.
Or, so he had idiotically thought.
Eventually, he reached a cliff— and skidded to a stop.
Caught on a branch hanging off the edge was a familiar red coat. Yuichiro's mouth shakily opened, but no sound exited his throat.
As if he were in a trance, Yuichiro took soft steps towards the cliff's edge, and looked down.
A tree lay, crushing a body into two. The body had no head— it seemed to have exploded upon coming in contact with a rock, which bore a splatter of red on grey. An eye peered out of the mess of bone and brain matter, whilst a tongue lolled in the mud. Underneath the tree, indiscernible guts and flesh were smeared into the soil.
The body had its arms outstretched— though both were mangled at the elbow, bending in odd, impossible angles. In the left hand held wilted green herbs.
The earth surrounding the body was dyed a deep brownish-red. It seems the rain hadn't been strong enough to wash away the remains.
Yuichiro did not cry. He could not cry. He simply had no tears left to cry. The death of his mother combined with the gory remains of his father sent him into shock.
He stared at the bottom of the ravine for what felt like centuries, before ripping the coat off the branch, clutching it in his hands, and leaving. Yuichiro paid little attention to where he stepped— it resulted in him slipping and tripping from time to time. His bare legs were scratched and pricked by stones and branches protruding out of the ground whenever he fell, but he only shakily stood up before continuing.
When he reached his home, he could see Muichiro's head sticking out of the doorway. As soon as his little brother spotted him, he hurried forwards, tears still streaming down his eyes.
How come he has so many tears?
“Nii-san…” uttered Muichiro. A miserable, pathetic sound. He was unable to say anything else for a while, for he had begun crying again.
Yuichiro waited in silence as he watched Muichiro clumsily pull himself together.
Then—
“Nii-san…!” came the same sorrowful tone, the same downturned eyes, the same trembling mouth. Like a child seeking candy, he took tiny, cautious steps towards his older brother with his hands outstretched, before trapping him in an embrace. Once again, tears streamed down his cheeks as he burrowed closely into Yuichiro.
Yuichiro observed his brother and pity rose from the depths of his heart, engulfing him like a flame. Although he wanted to do something else— offer words of comfort, or return the embrace— Yuichiro remained frozen in place. He felt Muichiro tremble, and noticed just how small both their frames were.
Without saying a word, Yuichiro wriggled his right arm free from Muichiro's hug. He held it in the air, hesitating, as Muichiro looked up in confusion.
The motion came to him naturally. Yuichiro gently rested his hand on the top of Muichiro's head, ruffled his hair once or twice, before sliding his hand down to caress his little brother's cheek.
Gazing at that pained face whilst wiping away a tear, revelations dawned upon Yuichiro.
Biting his lip, Yuichiro pried Muichiro's hands off of him, before pushing him away.
“Nii-san…?” Muichiro reached out again, but was rejected with an emotionless slap to his hands. Dumbfounded, his facial features slackened.
They were truly alone. There was no longer a pillar they both could lean on. There was no longer any living person that could be trusted.
Yuichiro fervently prayed to the gods, so that they may grant protection to his mother and father. Yet, nothing came of those prayers. The gods had abandoned them. Or, those who were doomed to fall fell anyway.
So, it had all come down to him.
If that was what fate had decreed, then that decree must be recieved.
At that moment, Yuichiro decided that he could no longer bathe in the joy of childhood— he had to grow up right away. If there was no pillar, then he must do his best to become that pillar. As the older sibling, that was his duty.
If he could do one final thing before the countdown for his life finished, it would be to fufill his responsibilities.
Yuichiro took a deep breath, before coldly speaking. “Get the shovel. We have to bury Mum before she starts rotting. I can't get Dad's body, so we'll bury his coat instead.”
He hardened his heart, closed off his mind, and strangled the child left inside him.
Yuichiro, eleven-years-old, remained kneeled in front of his parents’ graves. After having thought of the words he wanted to say, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and spoke earnestly.
‘Mama, Papa.’
Instantly, something got caught in his throat. He had stopped calling his parents those names since he was nine. Yuichiro swallowed, and allowed himself a moment to control his emotions.
‘I'm sorry I can't light incense, or bring fruit for you. I'm sorry that I can't give you any offerings. I've been unfilial. Please forgive me.’
Once, he remembered coming across an ancestral altar in the village. Grandiose offerings of money, sake, rice, and fruits surrounded a bowl of incense. There was even a portrait of the dead, framed in sturdy wood.
After burying his parents, Yuichiro struggled to make a sufficient altar for them.
Portraits were certainly out of the question.
He was also reluctant to buy incense for two reasons. The first was that would alert the villagers of his parent's death. They might send someone to pay their respects and give condolences— which, in itself, was a kind gesture— but Yuichiro did not dare to risk exposing his twin. The second reason was the price itself. He had snuck a peek at the price of incense and was thoroughly startled by how much a bundle cost. One bundle equated to a month's worth of rations! After careful consideration, weighing between those sticks and the survival of himself and his brother, Yuichiro gave up the idea of lighting incense.
On the matter of food, Yuichiro also met a roadblock. Although he knew to spare two bowls of rice and fruit for his mother and father, a nagging voice in the back of his mind constantly reminded him of Muichiro's health and needed nutrition. It was so persistent that Yuichiro grew sick of it, and gave up on fresh food as offerings, too.
In the end, the only offerings he could give were his own apologies.
‘Things haven't been going well for us— the summer is hotter than usual, our food is going bad quicker, and there’s less animals this time around… Muichiro even got sick twice before this. It’s my fault I couldn't take care of him, I'm sorry for failing you. I'm afraid things might not get better after this. I'm still not sure what to do next except continue on like always. I hope you can give us your blessings.’
He paused before venturing further.
‘Did you regret leaving us?’ His whisper was quiet, and lacked emotion. ‘If you could've stayed alive, you would, right?’
He was unsure why he was still asking questions like these. Perhaps, he wanted to resolve the hatred and doubts in his heart. Perhaps, he wanted his parents to kill off the unintentional, but vicious thoughts he had towards them.
There were times, when his sanity was at its lowest, did Yuichiro ponder things he would not dare to think when he was sound. To him, they were so vile, that he would rather get caned to death before he admitted that those opinions came from the depths of his heart. Yet, he could not help but wonder whether they were true or not.
Such was the nuance of his situation.
It affected his perception towards his mother. In her later days, Yuichiro had nagged his mother incessantly before she resigned to lying in a bed to be nursed. It had even led to an argument between them. Certainly, they both were incensed, but they had held their tounge, and discussed with a tenuous calm. After her death, Yuichiro regularly had vivid flashbacks to that small fight.
Except, it was intense, heated, and some horrible words have been exchanged between them. He could almost recall his mother saying, “You're just a child, you don't know what's right. Stop nagging me, your voice makes me sick.”
It never failed to frighten Yuichiro so much that he would sometimes sit until the morning, soaked and trembling in cold sweat, too afraid to fall back asleep. At first, Yuichiro had doubted the recollection. It was only a figment of his imagination, he told himself, it was merely a hallucination born from stress. He just couldn't accept that his kind and loving mother would say such hurtful things to him.
Over time, Yuichiro found it more difficult to discern between his own fabricated, twisted memories and what really happened. He started to think about those words more seriously.
Maybe, his mother really had felt hatred towards him. He was hateable, after all. Maybe she really did find his voice annoying. His voice was unbearable, after all.
Maybe, she died to escape his presence in her life.
That was the image of his mother that Yuichiro secretly held.
It also affected his perception towards his father. After his death, Yuichiro was unable to stop the words, his final words towards his father, replaying in his head. He thought about it, questioned his own emotions during that moment, and unwillingly came to a chilling conclusion.
Had his father died to spite him?
That's right, Yuichiro did say something like that, didn't he? “I also don't care anymore! If you want to die, just go!”
Maybe his father wanted to prove him right. He sometimes even saw visions of his father laughing at him. His father, with strings of flesh holding his two halves together, an eyeball dangling out of his smashed head, his arm waving whilst disjointed. The man would jeer, stretching his mouth which revealed cracked teeth and bleeding gums, “You cursed me, you wanted me to die, right? Then, here! I've died. Satisfied?”
And Yuichiro would be frozen in fear every time. Fear of the truth and fear of himself for not knowing the truth.
That was the image of his father that Yuichiro secretly held.
It would've been simpler if he had just asked, “Do you hate me?”
But, that time has passed. Yuichiro had convinced himself of his parent's feelings towards him. They were nothing more than indifference, much less something positive.
Yuichiro sighed, internally reprimanding himself for having false wishes.
‘Mama, Papa, I can feel something coming. I…’
Inauspicious signs have followed Yuichiro for a while. This was the first time that he had spoken about them to anyone, albeit to two people who could not hear him.
‘I think something will happen soon. Please continue looking over Muichiro, and give him your protection. I know it's thanks to you that he's still healthy and strong. And, when the time comes…’
Weights seemed to be lifted off Yuichiro’s chest as he reached his final sentence.
‘Please don't wait for me in heaven. I won't be disturbing you there.’
A brilliant smile bloomed on his face.
The summer heat was torturous. Though the twins were initially hesitant, the door was left wide open in hopes that cool air would rush in and deal with some of the heat. Cicadas regularly disturbed the silence with their buzzing.
Even without a blanket, Yuichiro was still sweating profusely on his futon. There seemed to be something rubbing against every one of his muscles— it made Yuichiro uncomfortable to the point of insomnia.
Still, he closed his eyes and tried to stop the complaints in his mind from rolling. He wished to fall asleep over and over, but his wish failed to come true.
Yuichiro's wrinkled eyebrows only creased further, and his eyes screwed shut tighter. It’s night, why hasn't it cooled down yet?
Rustles from the other side of the house only awoke him further. Yuichiro couldn’t help but let out a small sigh.
It seemed inevitable that both of them would be unable to sleep tonight. Yuichiro contemplated whether or not he should do something. What could he do, anyway? They had no ice cellars, nothing to cool them down. Was this him being underprepared, or was it just a result of their poverty?
There was some shuffling, then the sound of water being scooped and drunk. It bounced against the wooden walls of the house, before melting into silence.
Yuichiro felt a prickling sensation across the left side of his body. Annoyance crawling up his heart into his mind, he opened his eyes and directed his gaze towards the water jug.
As he expected, there stood Muichiro, looking at him with seemingly no emotions. It made Yuichiro frown.
What's he doing? If he's finished drinking water, why doesn't he go back to sleep?
Why look at me?
He opened his mouth, a reprimand ready to fire, when a sudden presence entered the corner of his eye.
Yuichiro clumsily sat up in a hurry, coming face-to-face with what resembled a man. He was tall, muscly, and dressed in rags. Yet, there was a strange thing that immediately registered in Yuichiro’s vision: the man's arms were black, and his hands were claws.
Most importantly, those eyes that were locked in a staredown with his own… They did not look human in the slightest.
Muichiro gasped in fear.
‘Oh, hell…’ spoke the creature in a raspy voice. ‘Just a couple of brats?’
Emerging from its mouth was the putrid stench of rotting blood and flesh. It made Yuichiro’s skin crawl.
His eyes darted quickly between the creature and Muichiro. If…
‘Well, whatever.’
That thing approached Muichiro with a raised arm.
As if the world had slowed down, Yuichiro rushed forwards, calling Muichiro's name. He did not care what would happen next. The only thing that was important now was putting something between his little brother and the creature, and that thing could only be himself!
Slash! Yuichiro's left arm was lighter for just a moment, before a searing-hot pain engulfed it whole. The feeling traveled through his nerves at lightning speed, indicating danger, making him yell and fall to his knees.
Muichiro's distressed cries. The splattering of blood spilling onto the ground. The eerie cackle of that creature. Yuichiro tried to ignore the noise and force himself to think straight.
But, he couldn't. He allowed himself to be dragged along by Muichiro into a corner of the house. The creature began to shout, but Yuichiro could not make out what words it was saying due to the scorching pain that muddled his head.
Held in the arms of his younger brother, Yuichiro felt a panic that he has never felt before. The fear that he could feel from his own twin shattered his heart, and dissolved all his doubts about the future. Now, survival was the most important outcome. He wanted to tell Muichiro to run, escape, and to leave him be.
He couldn't. His teeth were gnashed together so tight that veins popped on his jaw, while his remaining hand held the warm and sticky stump of his other arm. He could do nothing but painfully draw in shuddering breaths.
Weak. Yuichiro felt afraid of his own weakness. The more he thought about the situation, the dizzier he felt. Something began to jab at the insides of his skull, causing stars and colours to explode in his vision.
Then, a guttural, animalistic scream tore through the air. It shot through Yuichiro's ears like an arrow, ripping him apart from the inside, and dispelled all his thoughts, leaving him with a sensation that made his body seem light.
Yuichiro was confused about this emotion for only a split second. Once the truth of how he felt sunk in, he could almost sense his heart stopping.
Fear.
A primal, indescribable fear. His instinct told him to run, as it sent power through the muscles in his legs. His rationale recognised the owner of that scream as danger, and it spurred his brain into working at its best. The pain from his arm subsided, helping clear his mind.
However, that pain had only transferred from a physical form into a mental form. Yuichiro ignored all the warning signs that his body sent out, and only focused on the person before him.
Why should he care if he was scared? It didn't matter to him what Muichiro was doing, as long as he would move carefully and stay safe. To increase those chances, Yuichiro had to remain by his side no matter what.
After all, what kind of older brother was he if he saved himself and let his younger brother die?
Without warning, Muichiro rushed out of their embrace. Yuichiro felt a surge of both joy and sorrow flare up within him. Was he going to escape?
His expectations were completely subverted— both the creature and Muichiro screamed at each other, roaring battle cries as sounds of flesh hitting flesh ensued.
Panic overtook all of his other senses. Yuichiro wanted to get up, he wanted to help, he wanted to do something, but his entire body had frozen from a loss of blood. He cursed his own vessel. How come it was paralysed now, while it was so energised mere seconds ago? Was his own body more selfish than he was, and only prioritised his safety over his younger brother's?
Yuichiro's thoughts descended into madness and nonsense as he collapsed onto the futon. He could no longer draw in full breaths— each breath only filled up half his lungs, before being quickly exhaled. This caused his blood to circulate even slower, and Yuichiro flitted in and out of consciousness.
The sounds of fighting had become only distant echoes. Yuichiro tried to crawl, but his muscles seized and his bones locked. Yuichiro tried to shout, but the only thing that came out of his mouth were coughs and spittle. He began to lose energy…
He had now become numb to the pain in his arm— he more or less disassociated from his wound. Yuichiro lay in a pool of his own blood and resigned to his thoughts. It hurt to even try to think.
A little voice in his head told him to stop fighting what was inevitable. Something was coming for him, and that they both knew what that was. Instead, it suggested, he should use the remaining moments of his life to do something more productive.
With the little amount of air in his lungs, Yuichiro still managed to scoff. So, there was only one thing he could do, could he?
He had no hope for his insignificant self. He had no hope for other people. He had no hope for miracles. He had lost hope for the gods and divinity, ever since they had failed to save his parents.
Was he supposed to suck up all his pride, forget all the gods’ past mistakes, and prostrate himself before them again?
Yuichiro couldn't accept it. Though, he cast his attention away from his own ego, and turned it back to the only person he had left. It was then that Yuichiro steeled his resolve for the last time. If he couldn't help Muichiro physically, the only thing he could do was support him spiritually.
He began to pray, gathering what remained of his shallow faith to try and enact some kind of change. Earnestly, he prayed for Muichiro's safety, health, and future.
Please, Mama, Papa. Please, gods. Let my little brother run away. Let him be alive. Let him be safe and sound, and free of any pain. Let him survive, and live a long, fulfilling life.
He wished that the creature would change its mind and come back for him instead. Such ready meat was just lying in wait, so how could the creature not notice?
His mind constantly flickered in and out of unconsciousness during this time, so Yuichiro's prayers were broken up. He hoped that at least that could've reached someone's ears.
From the small glowing patch on the futon, he could vaguely see sunlight filter through the window. The light this time was gentle, like a caress, like a steady hand that was meant to be held, to be led somewhere beautiful. That warm light did not reach him.
Yuichiro's breath became shallower, and his heartbeat slowed. He knew that he didn't have much time left. With a small struggle, he stopped praying in his head. Yuichiro was suddenly afraid that merely this would not show enough resolve to the gods. Who would want to listen to words that came from a rotten heart like his own?
So, Yuichiro shut down all his other senses and focused all his remaining energy into verbalising his prayers.
He tried a few times, but only managed to force out weak croaks. His tongue had become numb and stiff.
No… If only he could do something before he died…
Perhaps, Yuichiro's words had really touched a divine being. At that moment, a sudden surge of energy ran through him. He knew what it was for.
Yuichiro endured the pain of moving his mouth to speak, in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
‘...Dear gods, Bud…dha… Please…’
He took another deep breath that only filled a third of his lungs. Muichiro's bright smile flashed before his eyes, and he regained even more will.
‘Please… just… spare my brother… Un…like me… he's… a really nice… kid…’
“Nice” was an understatement. To Yuichiro, there was no word that fully encapsulated how he perceived Muichiro. In every way, Muichiro was better than him. His brother has been nothing less than a shining star that guided him through his darkness. A priceless treasure that he was willing to protect and defend with his life.
‘He… wants… to be use…ful… And I… got in his way…’
He could not protect his treasure. If anything, Yuichiro had ruined the treasure himself. His existence in Muichiro's life was a stain that could not be washed off… If Yuichiro had to name his biggest sin, that would be the one he would present for judgement.
‘I'm… the on…ly bad… one… If you're giving punishment… just give… it to me…’
Hardship after hardship have befell their family. There must be some kind of curse, Yuichiro had figured. So, now, he wanted to divert the gods’ attention. Yuichiro had hurt the only person left in the world that he loved. His precious little brother. If that did not warrant punishment, he didn't know what would.
Yuichiro’s vision dimmed. He took his final breaths. There was one thing he had to clear up before he died. Something that he had constantly used as a way to berate his brother. Something that belonged to Muichiro. He had twisted it from something that was meant to be a blessing from their parents, into a knife he pointed at his only remaining family.
‘I knew… the whole time… the truth… The “Mu”... in “Muichiro”... is the “in” in “infinity.”’
Muichiro had always been special. He had always been the helpful one, the cheerful one, the person who had enough space in their heart to be kind and compassionate towards everyone. Even to those who he had never met before.
Even to someone who had only been cruel to him. Many times, Yuichiro had been thoroughly shocked by the extent of Muichiro's kindness towards him.
In pain, he asked himself: Who else in the world could be as loving as Muichiro?
If you ever do something to help others, you can bring out infinite strength.
Yuichiro has always known that his brother was destined for something greater. And, in all honesty, he was happy for Muichiro. He was proud.
Though, he never let those feelings surface. And now, due to his stalling, there was no more time left for him to express those emotions, feelings so profound that he himself could barely understand their breadth.
You are a chosen one.
As his eyes dimmed, Yuichiro felt a hand squeeze his own. There was the soft voice of a child that called him from somewhere far.
Yuichiro relaxed. He felt a sense of elation, of relief. The hand that held his own was shaky, but resolute, and still had vitality. He could cry out of happiness. This time… maybe, the divine chose to be kind to their little family.
With his remaining energy, Yuichiro glanced upwards, to try and catch a glimpse of his brother's face.
He saw the tears, the blood, and the distraught expression. That hand clutching his only held on tighter, with a force so strong it was almost enough to crush bones.
Unexpectedly, fear spiked in Yuichiro's heart. It was an indescribable sensation. It was more intense than when the creature entered their house, more painful than losing his arm, and more unbearable than abandonment. Thoughts raced in his head, as his vision grew darker.
What if Muichiro was attacked again?
What would happen if the villagers came searching, and found the two of them?
Who would protect Muichiro now?
Who would take care of Muichiro now?
Wait—