1 An omen, or a nightmare? [Private | Invite only] Tue May 09, 2017 12:30 am
Akusha
D-rank
- Invited Persons:
- Demi
- Demi
The blankets were askew on the bed, half hanging off and half on. The black silk sheet was intertwined within his legs, so much so that he couldn’t move them all that much as once again he flipped over onto his stomach. His breathing had changed drastically within the past few minutes from a gentle and calm rhythm to more ragged and forced, and his heartbeat had likewise gone from being a calm and gentle beat to one akin to some one having run a marathon. Still, none of this woke the male as his mind simply delved deeper into the dream world – or rather, deeper into the nightmare that had all but consumed him at this point.
He was running for his life, yet from what he was not sure. The ground was much closer than from what he originally expected. Tiny arms reached out in front of him as if he were grabbing for help that simply wasn’t there, only they weren’t his limbs. They were the arms of a child, a young boy. People, or rather their legs which was all he could really see from his small vantage point, ran past every which way in a kind of confusing dance before him. He darted between them when he could, though on several occasions ended up being knocked down and into the wet mud underneath – the heavens had opened up and water had begun to pour down on the scene while lightning flashed, cracking the confusion and illuminated the darkness and thunder momentarily drowned out the panicked screams of those fleeing around him.
However, this water was not enough to drench the flames that had consumed the village: it only caused the smoke to thicken, so much so that the young boy began to cough and cry: snot and tears running down his rosy red cheeks as he struggled to find breathable air. “Momma!”, he called out, as he had done so half a dozen times before. Momma wouldn’t come though – she was dead – murdered by the very male who had started this chaos and mayhem. Murdered for nothing more than being in the way, a casualty of cruelty and nothing more. An example among examples of those who had fallen first: though his Momma surely wouldn’t be the last.
It was several long minutes before the young boy broke free, before he broke free, and when he did he took cover near a crate outside of a shop, watching as many more adults rushed past in terror – some clutching their children or possessions, and some each other. The shouts from each of them drowned each other out, only adding to the very confusion that the little boy felt. Where was his Momma? Where was his Daddy?
Wait, he knew the answer to that question: his Daddy was attempting to fight his way through the crowd to the bad man who had caused all of this. That was his Daddy’s job after all: he was a shinobi of the village, a fighter, a protector of the people – and he did his job well. Or rather, so the young child had heard from the stories the elders of his clan had told. His Daddy was a good man, and good at what he did, maybe even one of the best. Yet, he was loving all the time, and focused on his family too – that was why he had made sure the young boy and his mother were sent off in the direction of safety before he left… not that that had made a difference, though, eh?
“DADDY! DADDY COME FIND ME PLEASE!”, the young boy screamed out, his throat burning from the process due to the smoke he had already inhaled. As a fresh set of sobs racked through the child's small body, he curled himself further into a tiny ball, small arms wrapping around himself. Where was his Daddy at? Was he standing against the evil male who was hurting and killing his people? Or, like his mother, would he too fall? Would he too be just another victim?
As more people rushed past the child, not even noticing him there, the puddles that had quickly formed from the falling rain were being stepped in, causing mud, ashes and water to splash up on the child, soaking him to the bone. The adults didn’t seem to notice, and neither did the already soaking wet child.
Minutes passed, and as they did so so too did the people until finally fewer and fewer seemed to dwindle behind. The shock of the suddenly lack of people caused the child to stop crying and screaming out for his father for the time being. Sniffling to himself and no longer bothering to wipe away his tears due to how wet his face already was, the child slowly leaned forward and looked around the crate he had been hidden behind: not a single person was in sight, though he could hear the dim sound of violence over the thunder that still rumbled from time to time. “Daddy…?”, he called out much softer as, despite the fear that had his little limbs trembling, he got up and stepped out from behind the crate. He made his way down the street much like a frightened animal, hiding and ducking down behind obstacles in his way as he could each time he heard a clap of thunder or an overly loud moment of the violence and fighting going on. Given how clear the street was it didn’t take the boy long to reach the area the main destruction was going on in: buildings that had once stood strong and proud were crumbling or completely destroyed, hollowed out from the fires burning across what was not soaked beyond repair from the waters. Bodies and blood littered the street, causing the whole thing to look like some sort of aftermath of a natural disaster.
But there was nothing natural about this. The violence that was going on was horrifying, bodies flying backwards, explosions rocking the landscape and causing the very ground beneath the boys feet to quiver and shake. Those fighting were shouting to each other, attempting to communicate among all of the chaos to formulate some kind of plan to take the monster they were fighting down – a monster surely, because what man could do this? Only monsters out of children's books caused this kind of chaos, only legends from old myths told to keep children in line caused this kind of destruction, only demons caused this kind of death.
“Daddy! Daddy, where are you!”, the little boy called out, though his voice didn’t carry over all of the noise. Still, the boy edged closer, fresh tears running down his cheeks. “Daddy! Please---”, the boys voice faltered as for the second time that evening his young and innocent gaze took in the sight of the monster causing all of this: he couldn’t see him exactly due to his father being in the way.
The young boys father was fighting against this man, sword to sword. The clashes of blade against blade, steel against steel, drowned out by everything else going on. Then suddenly the tables turned, the boy watching in sheer shock and fear as a blade came out from a hidden sleeve, both sword and dagger plunging into her father’s gut and piercing straight through him. Using both hands, and keeping his hands on the hilts of the weapons, the boy watched as the violent maniac lifted his father into the air by use of the weapons, causing blood to spew forth from the elder male's mouth. The male held the child's father in the air for several seconds before tossing him aside like trash; wiping his bloodied blades on his outfit. It was then that the male turned and looked toward the child who had begun to scream without noticing.
This male… he was tall with red hair that spiked backwards in a windswept sort of way. A mask was obscuring his eyes and the top half of his face. It was an appearance he knew well: because it wasn’t the child's, it was his. He was the monster. He was the one who had murdered all of these people.
As the murderer began to make toward the child the child's screamed started up again...
Kensei’s lungs burned as his own screamed filled the air, loud enough that it finally jarred him from the horrible nightmare that had consumed him. He sat up with a start, startled and panting as he looked around in the darkness around him for any signs of the chaos, death, and destruction that his dream self had caused. There was no rain, no thunder and lightning, no scent of blood. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
“A dream… it was just a dream.”, he murmured to himself, rubbing at his chest as he felt his heart beating heavy and hard – so much so that he could hear the sound of it in his own ears.
Reaching up Kensei rubbed his face with his right hand, frowning as he realized it was soaked in sweat. What a dream to have: or a nightmare really. To have murdered all of those people, innocent women and children, people who had been just trying to protect their village. Why? None of it made any sort of sense. He would never do something like that. It wasn’t in his nature, hell it wasn’t in his soul. He wanted to help people. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could ever cause him to do something like. But why the hell had he had a dream like that? Was it some kind of future sight? Some kind of omen for what was to come? Was he going to turn into some kind of monster, a killer of innocence, a murderer of women and children?
No, no he could not think like that. He would never, ever do something so horrific and so disgusting. There was nothing in this world that could make him commit such horrors, such crimes against the innocent people of the village, any village for that matter. That was not him. This was not an omen of things to come, this was not a warning that he was on some kind of wrong path. This was nothing more than a seriously fucked up dream that was a mental torture and absolutely nothing else.
Kensei repeated those words in his head over and over again for several minutes as he waited for his heartbeat and breathing to settle once more, and for himself to calm down. Eventually, the mantra worked, and he calmed completely – though, he still could not get those images out of his head. It was as if they were burned into the back of his eyeballs. Disgusted with himself over having such a dream he threw the blankets off of himself after spending a few seconds untangling them from around his legs and then stood up. He stretched skyward until bones cracked and muscles stretched in protest, holding the pose for several long seconds before releasing it with a groan.
He glanced behind himself, contemplating returning to the warm and inviting mattress, but thought better of it. After a dream like that he had no interest in allowing himself to have another, and surely with his luck his dream would only end up picking up where it had let off were he to go that route. No, better to stay awake and just go about his day.
Coffee… or a shower. A contemplating decision that had him pausing for but a second before a plan formulated. He wandered from his bedroom and into the kitchen, heading over to the glorious machine that made every morning brighter – coffee commercial much? A filter was tugged free from the brunch and thrown into the machine. A canister of coffee was then brought down from the top cabinet, the top popped open with ease as the grounds filled the room with the delicious smell of the brew. He took three scoop fulls and filled the coffee filter before closing the lid and placing the canister back. The pot was grabbed next and filled with water before being deposited into the machine. With everything filled and ready he returned the pot to its position and flicked it on, standing there for a moment as he listened to the machine begin to kick on and go to work on brewing a delicious cup of gold for him.
With the coffee brewing he turned and made his way back toward his bedroom, heading into the bathroom right nearby. He closed the door, but did not bother shutting it completely, before turning to the shower and giving the knobs a turn. He adjusted them both until the spray was just hot enough for him to stand it. After a nightmare like that he felt the need to truly cleanse himself, and the hotter the water at this point the better. After removing his boxers, the only thing he bothered sleeping in, he stepped into the spray directly, ignoring every urge his body threw out to move away and out of the way of the super hot water. He stood there for a moment, letting his body just adjust enough that he could think of anything else outside of “Ouch, that hurts”, before ducking his head under and getting his short red hair wet. Once it was thoroughly soaked with the heated spray he reached over and grabbed his usual shampoo. The lid was flipped open, some of the unscented mixture deposited into his hand. He pressed the lid against the wall, closing the lid offhandedly, before putting the bottle back onto the shelf. He then rubbed his palms together, depositing the shampoo onto both hands, before rubbing it through his hair and causing suds to coat every inch of every strand of hair. Once he was satisfied that his hair was coated enough in the shampoo he tilted his head back into the spray once more, rubbing his hands through his hair as he ensured that every last strand was cleaned of the soap until his hair was finally squeaky clean. With his hair clean he reached for the washcloth that he had hung up after the shower curtain rod the previous day. He then reached for the bar of soap, placing both beneath the spray as he rubbed some of the contents of the bar onto the cloth until it was good and covered in a white film of the unscented bar. With enough soap on the wash clothing he began to wash himself after finally stepping out of the way of the spray, starting from the top and working his way down his body thoroughly, making sure that every inch of himself was good and properly clean. Once every inch of himself was covered in soap he stepped back under the spray, making sure to rinse his body free of every last bubble of soap, leaving himself totally and completely clean.
With nothing left to wash, and the smell of coffee and soap now mixing in the air, Kensei finally turned to the knobs and shut the water off, first the cold tap and then the hot, causing the water to become momentarily scolding against his back back the flow of the water ceased. With a sigh he opened the curtain, the coldness in the air like a physical assault against his skin as he reached out to the towel rack on the back of the door and pulled the terry cloth free. He rubbed it in his hair first, pulling as much of the moisture out of his hair as possible before following with his face, arms, chest, and down the rest of his body – removing all of the water as he did so and causing the towel to become increasingly wet in the process. Once he was finished with his drying process he took a moment to hang the towel back up before stepping out of the bathroom, goosebumps breaking out across his flesh in protest to the coldness of the air compared to the warmth of the bathroom, and heading into his bedroom where his clothing resided.
He pulled the top drawer open first, fishing out one of his favorite pairs of boxers and placing them on the top of the dresser. The top drawer was closed, and the second opened, pulling out a black t-shirt which was likewise deposited on top of the dresser. The second drawer was closed and the third open, revealing pants. He removed a black pair and placed them with his other clothing before closing the drawer and making quick work of getting dressed.
As he finished adjusting his clothing comfortably enough he heard the beep of the coffee pot that indicated the delicious brew of gold was finally finished. With a small grin on his face, and the horribly nightmare he had had finally beginning to fade in the background thanks to the newest distraction, he headed out of his bedroom and back into the kitchen. He pulled one of his favorite mugs out of the cabinet – one that was slightly larger than normal so that it could hold more of the delicious concoction he was about to make – and placed it down on the counter near the coffee pot. He then proceeded over to the fridge where he pulled out some creamer. He grabbed the bowl of sugar on his way back to the cup and deposited equal amounts of sugar and creamer into his cup followed by capping the rest of it off with a good and fair bit of coffee. A spoon was removed from a drawer next and used to stir the delicious liquid. Ignoring the fact that he needed to clean up his mess and put the sugar and creamer away for the moment he picked up his cup in both hands and then leaned his ass against the counter behind him. The cup was promptly brought up to his lips and sipped at for several long moments. The hot liquid was nice making its way across his tongue and down his throat, and the delicious taste only made things all that much better. As did the idea of the rush he was about to get from all of the caffeine and sugar that the cup contained.
He stood there for several long minutes, just sipping slowly at the cup in his hands, the liquid inside warming the mug and therefore his fingertips. Once the cup was halfway empty he finally bothered to turn, placing the cup down on the counter after doing so. He looked to the creamer and sugar, picking both up. The sugar was placed back alongside the flour and spices, and the creamer was placed back into the fridge. He took the sponge from near the sink and turned the tap on, getting it slightly damp before shutting the tap back off. Using the wet sponge he cleaned up the little bit of sugar he had left on the counter and then tossed the sponge back into the sink. Satisfied his mess was clean he returned to his cup of coffee, picking it up once more and returning to leaning against the counter. He could have sat down, he should have sat down, but he didn’t even bother. Instead, he just brought the cup back up to his lips and proceeded to sip at the delicious liquid inside while contemplating what he planned on accomplishing for the day, especially seeing as he was up a lot earlier than normal.
Several ideas ran through his head as he sipped at his coffee, including doing some reading, and even getting some training done. He did not jump onto anything right away, though, and instead just kept running ideas through his head. Finally, he decided on a game plan: he was running low on food and needed to stock back up, plus there was some training he wanted to accomplish at some point, as well as a book he wished to finished. Considering how early it was in the day he figured it would be possible to do all three were he to time things correctly.
He drained the last of the coffee in his cup, downing it in one last giant gulp, before placing the cup into the sink. He turned on the tap, filling the cup about halfway with water and giving it a swirl before dumping it out to get the last bits of sugar out of the bottom so it didn’t stick later when he went to wash it. He shut the tap off then, grabbed up his weapons, and threw on his jacket, shuddering for a moment as he remembered back to the dream he had had and the horrible things his dream self had done. It almost caused him to stop and take the jacket back off… but no, the jacket was him, and he was not that evil person, no matter what his mind was trying to pull.
3538 WC