Cad
New Member
Exhaustion swept over the man, drawing him into a deep sleep - the type of sleep that holds you tightly, seizing every part of your mind and body. The type of sleep where you don’t even dream.The warm sun blanketed him as he rested by the river bed, silent and motionless.
There he rested, seeming to drift into an abyss of cozy darkness until a splash of water crashed against his face, jolting the man from his nearly coma-like slumber. He shot up, hands scrambling against the soft sand and soil mixture, and looked around in bewilderment. Scorching white and yellow light from the sun blinded him, almost entirely, until a figure stepped into the glow. Still breaking along the edges of the shadowed figure, the light pierced the man’s sight but he could see that the thing before him was another person.
Lifting his hand to the stranger, unconcerned for any threat that could be, he reached out and grabbed hold of some cloth.
“You scared me half to death!” A woman’s voice, elderly and shaking, gasped.
Her hand covered the man’s as she knelt down to meet him at eye level. Her trembling hand moved to brush away the dirt from his face.
“You gave me quite the scare...you just wouldn’t wake up.”
Her voice was just as unsteady as her hands. The man could now see her more clearly: her head was covered in a ragged hood, which wrapped around her shoulders, and her white hair peeked around her aged skin. Age spots covered her skin and a pair of grey eyes peered out from below sagging eyebrows.
The man tried to speak but, before he could, the elder kept talking.
“I shook you and yelled at you...I was just so scared you were dead. Oh me, it’s so nice to see you awake, though. You must have been terribly tired, young man. I was afraid there had been a fight.
Fight?...
“Come, come now,” she said, moving her hand to his shoulder, pushing him upward with what little strength she had.
He pushed himself up and came to his knees, then to his feet, anchoring himself on her shoulder. To his surprise, she kept her balance better than expected, as he pressed off of her.
“There, now. You’ll be ok...let’s get you home, now. We should probably contact one of your friends and let them know you’re here.”
“My...friends?” he asked, confused by her comment.
“It’s been a while since one of you has come this far,” she said positioning herself under his arm for support. “It’s been a long while but I haven’t forgotten those uniforms.”
The man’s head tilted downward, eyes scanning his black clothes. Whatever she meant, it didn’t register anything for him.
“I...I don’t know where I live. I don’t know where my home is,” he said, trying to bear as much of his own weight as he could.
“Don’t worry about that,” she replied. “I’m sure you took quite a beating...you probably hit your head but you’ll remember soon enough. I don’t live far from here so first thing’s first: we need to get you cleaned up. A hot bath and then some food.”
She peeked up at the man and gave an almost-toothless smile, “You’ll feel much better after that.”
The pair walked for a while longer in silence, aside for the occasional grunting or wheezing from the worn man. Unsure of how to feel, considering the confusion and lack of any memory, he felt slightly compelled to say something.
“Thank you....for helping me,” he mumbled, clearly unsure of how to say it.
“Oh,” she said in her shaky voice, “nothing of it. I know how your kind gets into trouble...you boys do a lot for us. It’s the least I can do.”
“What do you mean, my kind?”
“Oh, my,” she said, sounding troubled, “you really did hit your head, didn’t you? Shinigami, young man. I mean shinigami, of course. You’re wearing the uniform of one, at least.”
Shinigami.
The word resonated with him but he couldn’t quite place a meaning to it. His eyebrows furrowed while he tried to remember, but to no avail. He looked at his clothing again but he still couldn’t recognize the attire.
A few moments later, the two arrived to the edge of a simple town. Homes made of basic materials - straw, mud, wood and some metal sheets - littered the dusty landscape. A few people moved about in the distance, tending to their own business. The sounds of village life echoed in the background, as the pair shuffled across the dirt. Leading the man onto a beaten path, the elderly woman seemed to speed up as they hit the dirt trail. It had only been then that the man realized she had been barefoot the entire time.
He started to say something, his head hanging in exhaustion and looking down toward the road, but saw her dirty feet and stopped himself. They were dirty and calloused, probably more durable the the soles of most sandals. She shuffled the man with renewed energy and it almost felt as if he were being dragged, at one point, but soon came to a stop.
“Here we are,” she said, letting out a sigh.
The man moved his arm from her shoulder, shifting to bear his own weight. He looked up to see a small hut, more well-built than those around it. The woman moved forward and pushed a door open, scuffling through the opening as if she were in a hurry.
“Come, come now,” she murmured. Then there was a sudden kick in her voice, “In you go!”
The weakened man glanced around for a second but soon followed. The inside of the hut seemed as if it no one was living there. Bare, dark and cooler than anticipated for such a hot day, the shack was void of much to look at, aside from the dust, but the back corner, however, hosted a small, metal oven. It glowed with an orange light that poured out from the cracks in the door, beams only broken by the old woman’s appearance.
She moved across the floor and pulled a cloth from a hanging line, wrapped it around the handle of an iron pot atop the stove, and grabbed it with both hands. Her meager arms bowed out, elbows pointing in opposite directions, as she struggled to carry the heavy, already steaming pot. She found her way around a corner and the sound of pouring liquid came from the dark rook. Various lids and containers seemed to be shuffled over the next few minutes as the man sat himself on a pad, leaning against the distant wall.
A moment after letting his legs slide straight out to the floor, the stranger saw the woman come back into the room. In her hands was a simple bowl, steam rising off the top, cupped by her boney fingers. She quietly handed it over to her guest and he accepted, almost impatiently. Instead of waiting to use the spoon, he pulled the porcelain to his lips and took large gulp.
Wiping his mouth and letting out a deep sigh, the nameless man let his eyes move up from his bowl.
“So,” he said softly, “tell me about shinigami...”
There he rested, seeming to drift into an abyss of cozy darkness until a splash of water crashed against his face, jolting the man from his nearly coma-like slumber. He shot up, hands scrambling against the soft sand and soil mixture, and looked around in bewilderment. Scorching white and yellow light from the sun blinded him, almost entirely, until a figure stepped into the glow. Still breaking along the edges of the shadowed figure, the light pierced the man’s sight but he could see that the thing before him was another person.
Lifting his hand to the stranger, unconcerned for any threat that could be, he reached out and grabbed hold of some cloth.
“You scared me half to death!” A woman’s voice, elderly and shaking, gasped.
Her hand covered the man’s as she knelt down to meet him at eye level. Her trembling hand moved to brush away the dirt from his face.
“You gave me quite the scare...you just wouldn’t wake up.”
Her voice was just as unsteady as her hands. The man could now see her more clearly: her head was covered in a ragged hood, which wrapped around her shoulders, and her white hair peeked around her aged skin. Age spots covered her skin and a pair of grey eyes peered out from below sagging eyebrows.
The man tried to speak but, before he could, the elder kept talking.
“I shook you and yelled at you...I was just so scared you were dead. Oh me, it’s so nice to see you awake, though. You must have been terribly tired, young man. I was afraid there had been a fight.
Fight?...
“Come, come now,” she said, moving her hand to his shoulder, pushing him upward with what little strength she had.
He pushed himself up and came to his knees, then to his feet, anchoring himself on her shoulder. To his surprise, she kept her balance better than expected, as he pressed off of her.
“There, now. You’ll be ok...let’s get you home, now. We should probably contact one of your friends and let them know you’re here.”
“My...friends?” he asked, confused by her comment.
“It’s been a while since one of you has come this far,” she said positioning herself under his arm for support. “It’s been a long while but I haven’t forgotten those uniforms.”
The man’s head tilted downward, eyes scanning his black clothes. Whatever she meant, it didn’t register anything for him.
“I...I don’t know where I live. I don’t know where my home is,” he said, trying to bear as much of his own weight as he could.
“Don’t worry about that,” she replied. “I’m sure you took quite a beating...you probably hit your head but you’ll remember soon enough. I don’t live far from here so first thing’s first: we need to get you cleaned up. A hot bath and then some food.”
She peeked up at the man and gave an almost-toothless smile, “You’ll feel much better after that.”
The pair walked for a while longer in silence, aside for the occasional grunting or wheezing from the worn man. Unsure of how to feel, considering the confusion and lack of any memory, he felt slightly compelled to say something.
“Thank you....for helping me,” he mumbled, clearly unsure of how to say it.
“Oh,” she said in her shaky voice, “nothing of it. I know how your kind gets into trouble...you boys do a lot for us. It’s the least I can do.”
“What do you mean, my kind?”
“Oh, my,” she said, sounding troubled, “you really did hit your head, didn’t you? Shinigami, young man. I mean shinigami, of course. You’re wearing the uniform of one, at least.”
Shinigami.
The word resonated with him but he couldn’t quite place a meaning to it. His eyebrows furrowed while he tried to remember, but to no avail. He looked at his clothing again but he still couldn’t recognize the attire.
A few moments later, the two arrived to the edge of a simple town. Homes made of basic materials - straw, mud, wood and some metal sheets - littered the dusty landscape. A few people moved about in the distance, tending to their own business. The sounds of village life echoed in the background, as the pair shuffled across the dirt. Leading the man onto a beaten path, the elderly woman seemed to speed up as they hit the dirt trail. It had only been then that the man realized she had been barefoot the entire time.
He started to say something, his head hanging in exhaustion and looking down toward the road, but saw her dirty feet and stopped himself. They were dirty and calloused, probably more durable the the soles of most sandals. She shuffled the man with renewed energy and it almost felt as if he were being dragged, at one point, but soon came to a stop.
“Here we are,” she said, letting out a sigh.
The man moved his arm from her shoulder, shifting to bear his own weight. He looked up to see a small hut, more well-built than those around it. The woman moved forward and pushed a door open, scuffling through the opening as if she were in a hurry.
“Come, come now,” she murmured. Then there was a sudden kick in her voice, “In you go!”
The weakened man glanced around for a second but soon followed. The inside of the hut seemed as if it no one was living there. Bare, dark and cooler than anticipated for such a hot day, the shack was void of much to look at, aside from the dust, but the back corner, however, hosted a small, metal oven. It glowed with an orange light that poured out from the cracks in the door, beams only broken by the old woman’s appearance.
She moved across the floor and pulled a cloth from a hanging line, wrapped it around the handle of an iron pot atop the stove, and grabbed it with both hands. Her meager arms bowed out, elbows pointing in opposite directions, as she struggled to carry the heavy, already steaming pot. She found her way around a corner and the sound of pouring liquid came from the dark rook. Various lids and containers seemed to be shuffled over the next few minutes as the man sat himself on a pad, leaning against the distant wall.
A moment after letting his legs slide straight out to the floor, the stranger saw the woman come back into the room. In her hands was a simple bowl, steam rising off the top, cupped by her boney fingers. She quietly handed it over to her guest and he accepted, almost impatiently. Instead of waiting to use the spoon, he pulled the porcelain to his lips and took large gulp.
Wiping his mouth and letting out a deep sigh, the nameless man let his eyes move up from his bowl.
“So,” he said softly, “tell me about shinigami...”
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