A Ship With Tattered Sails

Title: A Ship With Tattered Sails

Author: Kimmy jarl

Spoiler warning: Seisouhen. Samurai X Reflections. Don’t read if you haven’t seen.

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. I do not own any Rurouni Kenshin characters, and I get no money from writing this story.

Rated: R

Warnings: Blood. Dark. Disturbing imagery.

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Your arms are wrapped in bandages, white and neat, tight around your wrists. I take them away. I unwrap you.

Sorry.

It's worse than I had expected. The skin red… bleeding… Decaying, while still alive. Enough for you? I bet not. I bet it never was enough.

Kenshin.

I was at your funeral. Tearless, painless. Me.

You said to me once, blunt as you please: Aoshi, try not to murder too many people.

As if it could touch me, as if could touch me like it did you. It didn't. Your pain was never mine, not when I…

I did. Murder.

I lift you up. Unwrap the bandages covering your chest. What they hide – again – is worse than I had expected. Your feet, the same. How you walked I'm glad I didn't see.

Some memories stay with me. Stay too close, I might say.

Knifes. Several of them waiting for me. I start with your foot. Your right foot. Pull and cut. Slow. Like removing a sock. I have a new one for you. Have it right here. What do you say? I can't give you the bones back, but here's a better sock. Less tattered.

Next foot. Second time the same.

I didn't say anything when I stood by your grave, but I heard a song, a simple song, in my head. A memory, a lullaby. New words fell into the old lines, messing them up. A chaos, I chanted:

A vagabond

Is thirsty

And he sleeps

On a ship with tattered sails

I chanted for you

A ship with tattered sails

I cut. I cut the skin on your chest. Peel it off. My knife is sharp. I feel it when I turn it, preparing your substitute.

Needles. I shiver. Those scars of mine. On you. My scars on you.

Start with your arm, your hand. Hands are the hardest. I take your glove, and give you mine.

Your other arm. You think I couldn't? I give you a smoother one. Looks better, underneath the bandages, when cleaned and wrapped. I know you don't want it. But you know what? It's not for you, it's for me.

You said the word: murder. Said it out of care. For them. For me.

Kenshin.

I want it, the tatter.

Forgive me, Kenshin.

I steal it from you.