Early Morning by Brienna Boydstun

It was early morning when it happened. The sun was barely over the hills, weaving dark shadows through my village. A village that would no longer be standing in just three more hours.

My repeated coughing is what woke me. My chest felt heavy and my eyes stung and watered when I opened them. No matter how hard I rubbed them, the inside of my house still looked fuzzy. My six-year-old mind was slow to realize that what I thought was the goo of sleepiness in my eyes was really smoke from my burning house.

I grabbed my sister who still slept beside me, shaking her as my mind filled with panic. Morna’s fourteen, I thought. She’ll know what to do.

Morna rolled over with a groan and opened her eyes to my panicked, tear-stained face. “Fire!” I choked out. Her sleep and smoke filled head didn’t take as long as mine to realize what was going on. She grabbed two blankets from our bed and quickly wrapped one around each of us as she screamed for Ma and Da to get up. The smoke was getting thicker and I still didn’t see my parents.

I could tell Morna was scared and didn’t want to leave me. She gripped my small hand in hers as she pulled me across the room to where Ma and Da slept. As Morna pulled back the privacy curtain I was just able to glimpse my parent’s peacefully still forms before a loud crash behind us drew my attention. The floor was now glowing with parts of our thatched ceiling.

Morna scooped me up and ran for the door as I struggled in her arms screaming to my still silent parents to wake up. Morna’s hold tightened around me and I felt the wind rush past us as my sister ran. I stretched my arms out towards my burning home as if I could will my parents to me. Morna ducked into the shadows behind a pile of wood stacked next to another house and put me down. I tried to run back, but she grabbed my arms, holding me down.

“Birte, listen, I know you want Ma and Da right now, but you need to be quiet,” she plead as she crouched over me.

“I want Ma-”

“I know, but you need to be quiet, we can’t let them hear us!” She scolded, cutting me off. I finally took in my sister’s face, realizing how panicked it was as she looked around frantically.

My brain shifted from the image of Ma and Da lying in bed to what was going on around me. Now that I wasn’t shrieking anymore, other sounds could reach my ears. I heard people screaming and praying; I heard the clashing of swords hitting shields; I heard the sound of horses running on the ground and the clanking of armor. The Romans were here.

My heart raced for a different reason now. My breathing started coming out in short, fast bursts and my body felt numb as I began to shake with fear. I knew if the Romans caught us we would be kept as slaves or, more likely, killed.

“Birte, look at me,” Morna commanded. “I give you my word, I won’t let anything happen to you, but I need you to calm yourself.”

I looked at my sister; even disheveled and covered in soot she was beautiful. Though she was the envy of every girl in the village, Morna never let it affect her kind, honest nature. Looking into those deep blue eyes that matched mine, my breathing steadied and I found myself trusting that everything would be okay. Morna always took care of me and I knew if she promised nothing bad would happen, nothing would.

“Birte, we need to move,” Morna said softly, her voice shaking a little.

I shook my head vigorously back and forth. I didn’t want to move from our spot and risk someone seeing us.

“Birte, if we don’t move soon the soldiers will find us.”

My breathing began to pick up again as I looked around for any Romans that might be sneaking up on us. I peaked around the log stack and I saw my friends and neighbors running around in confusion, screaming. The sun glinted off the silver armor the Roman soldiers wore as they strolled through the village, cutting my people down one at a time. The blood from their bodies soaked into the earth, turning it as red as the clothes the Roman’s wore underneath their armor. It was as if they did this on purpose to show anyone who passed that the land was theirs now.

Some of the soldiers carried torches, setting fire to houses. The fire and sun reflected off these men’s armor to make it look golden and fiery; they looked like they might belong to the army of the sun god, Lugh, and, for a moment, I sent up a prayer asking forgiveness for whatever we might have done to anger him.

“Calm yourself, Birte. Remember, I am not going to let anyone hurt you.” Morna said once again, calling me back to myself. She waited for my breathing to even out and continued. “We need to get to the Sacred Grove, there are plenty of hiding places where no one will find us.”

I knew she was right, but I couldn’t help feeling terrified. I could see the grove of oak trees that bordered the west side of our village; the grove looked really far away and we would have to run through an open field to get there.

“Now listen to me very carefully Birte,” Morna said as she took my face in her hands. “I want you to hold my hand while we run, but if I let go for any reason I don’t want you to stop. Don’t look back, don’t think about me, you just keep running and find the best hiding place you can. Do you understand?”

I could see tears welling up in my sister’s eyes now. Why would she let go? I thought. I don’t want Morna to let go, I want her to stay with me.

“Birte, you have to give me your word you will keep running and not look back. That you will find a hiding place and stay there until the soldiers leave. Birte, promise me!” She begged.

“I promise,” I whispered, not able to speak the words any louder. Morna’s tears began to fall as she kissed me on the cheek and held me tightly to her for a moment.

“Ready?” She asked as she took my hand. Unable to speak, I nodded and then we were running through the field, faster than I had ever run before. My sister ran in front, pulling me as we ran, urging me to run quicker. We closed the distance in less time than I thought possible. When we were almost to the trees I risked a look back towards the village, no one was following us! Morna was right; everything was going to be alright.

I ran straight into Morna at the same time she let loose a piercing scream. When I caught my balance I looked up to see a Roman soldier towering over my sister as she struggled to get out of his arms.

“Where do you think you are going Celtic whore?” The soldier asked laughing, showing his grimy yellow teeth. “I have some friends I know will want to meet you.”

I tugged as hard as I could on my sister’s arm, trying to free her. No matter how hard I pulled I couldn’t gain any ground.

“And what’s this?” Yellow Teeth asked, looking at me now. “Your friend here looks a little young, but I’m sure we can find a use for her too.”

I didn’t understand what Yellow Teeth meant but it made Morna freeze. As he reached for me Morna released my hand and swung her leg between Yellow Teeth’s legs.

“Run!” Morna screamed. I saw Yellow Teeth crumple to the ground, his hold still firm on Morna’s arm. No description existed for the mix of fear, panic and anguish I saw in my sister’s eyes at that moment. “RUN!”

My body felt torn in two. Morna looked so scared and I didn’t want to leave her, but my other half urged me to listen to Morna’s words and run for safety. Yellow Teeth was starting to get up again and the promise I made to my sister ran through my head and my legs carried the rest of my body through the forest. Each passing tree and bush was a lurking Roman soldier; their branches, which scratched my face and caught on my clothes, my mind saw as soldier’s hands trying to catch me in their grasp. My sister’s voice continued to echo through my head, commanding me to run, but my body could no longer obey. I collapsed to the ground, my lungs not big enough to take in all the air I needed.

I curled into a ball and wrapped the thin blanket I still carried around me, trying to warm my shaking body. I knew I had not run far, even now I could smell the smoke and hear the fighting from my village. I knew I should run again or look for a hiding spot, but I couldn’t make my body move. My muscles were stiff, my feet were bloody from the undergrowth of the forest and my body was exhausted.

I continued to sit in my spot, rocking back and forth, until I heard shouts coming from behind me.

“I found some more blood!” A male voice yelled. “She must have gone this way!”

The Romans were following my trail. My heartbeat picked up again and my fatigue left me. I looked around for a hiding spot but all I could see were tall oak trees. I had apparently picked the one spot in the grove without much undergrowth or any rock formations where I could hide; there weren’t even enough fallen leaves to pile on myself. I knew I couldn’t run; the soldiers would hear me. I heard Morna scream at me in my head to stop panicking and breathe. A raven squawked above me, drawing my attention and giving me an idea: I would climb.

I tied the blanket around me and started up the nearest tree. I wasn’t the best climber and with my feet wounded and my mind distracted with fear I was even worse. I finally reached a limb that would be above the soldier’s heads and hung onto the tree trunk, trying not to move or make noise.

I could see the soldiers now; there were three of them, circling my little clearing, looking for clues to my whereabouts. The tallest looked like a rooster. He wore a helmet with a red crest and directed the other two around; I assumed he was in charge. The medium one reminded me of a bear: hairy, burly and lumbering, while the third seemed like a rat: small, lanky and sharp featured.
“Come out, come out, little girl,” Rooster called.

“There are no more signs farther ahead, she has to be around here,” Rat told Rooster.

“Then keep looking. Remember our orders: no one lives,” Rooster told the other two quietly. “We need to teach these Celts they cannot rise up against the greatest empire in the world and win.”

“You do not need to hide little one,” Rat called out in a cooing voice that sent shivers through my body.

“We want to help you find your way back to your village,” Bear chipped in. “Your friend is worried about you. Don’ t you want to see your friend again?”

Don’t listen to them, I told myself. They are lying. Still, an image of Morna’s anguished eyes flickered through my mind and I had to fight hard not to cry. I was already breathing in shallow gulps because I didn’t want to the soldiers to hear me but now my nose was starting to clog up from the and I was starting to feel a little dizzy from lack of air. My hands and legs ached from holding onto the cold tree and I prayed the soldiers would leave soon.

“Come out now little one, I’m tired of this game,” Rooster commanded. “Come out and we can go back to your village where you can find some food and get warm. Wouldn’t you like that?”

My fingers began to slip and they didn’t want to move anymore so I wrapped my arms around the tree, hugging it with all my strength.

“Let’s leave her, no one will notice if we leave one little child alive,” Bear grumbled. “She’ll probably freeze to death anyway.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Rooster said. I let out a sigh as I saw them start to walk away and began to relax a little.

“Caw! Caw!” Screamed a raven, drawing the soldier’s attention as it flew straight to my tree.

“Up there, in the tree!” Bear shouted, pointing straight at me.

“Enough games girl, come down now.” Rooster ordered me. “Go get her,” he told Rat when I didn’t move.

As Rat started climbing closer to me his smile grew bigger, his squinty eyes more eager. I wanted to climb higher to get away from him but my muscles were too tight and I couldn’t move them. I screamed as he pulled me from the tree’s trunk and threw me over his shoulder. Once we were down from the tree Rat handed me over to Bear and the soldiers started back towards my village. I fought as much as I could, kicking and trying to wriggle out of Bear’s grip, but his armor protected him and I only seemed to be hurting myself. I looked desperately for somewhere I could hurt my captor and found an unprotected spot on his neck. I bit it as hard as I could, tasting blood in my mouth. He dropped me and I immediately scrambled to my feet and ran.

I didn’t get far. Rooster caught my hair, pulling me back, and hit me across the face. I fell down, curled in a ball with my hands over my face to protect it from further injury. My teeth hurt and my eyes didn’t want to focus quite right.

“If you wanted to walk the rest of the way you should have spoken up,” Rooster said darkly. He grabbed my hair again and continued to walk back to my village, dragging me when my legs couldn’t keep up. I screamed for him to stop but he didn’t seem to hear me. By the time we reached the center of the village where the rest of the soldiers were gathered I was completely covered in bloody mud with scrapes up and down my body. Most of the houses looked like large bonfires now and no one ran around the village fighting and screaming anymore, they just lay lifeless on the ground.

“Caught her did you? Took you long enough,” Yellow Teeth said, stepping out from the crowd and walking over to me. “You caused a lot of trouble running off, and now you’re going to pay for it.”

I screamed to the gods to help me as I saw him draw his sword. All the events of the day passed through my head as he slowly raised his sword above his head. I closed my eyes and took one last deep breath picturing Morna and my parent’s smiling faces.

“Birte!”

I opened my eyes to see Morna twisting out of a soldier’s grip and running over to me. Yellow Teeth lowered his sword down to his side as Morna kneeled by my side and cradled me.

“Morna? Morna I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I tried to hide, I did, but they found me! I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” she told me, rocking me back and forth. “I know you did, I know. It’s not your fault.”

“Will someone get her out of my way,” Yellow Teeth barked at the rest of the soldiers.

“No!” My sister screamed as Rooster tried to untangle her from me.

“Morna!” I cried, holding her hand as tightly as I could.

“Please, just let her go!” Morna begged Yellow Teeth.

“Why should I do that?”

“Glory,” Morna said. “If you let her go she can tell everyone what you did here. If you don’t, know one will know what happened. And…”

“And?”

“And, I promise I won’t fight,” Morna said, slipping her nightgown down her body. I sat their watching her naked body in shock not knowing what she meant or what she was doing. “What’s one little girl?” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yellow Teeth looked at her, his eyes filled with hunger as he thought over her words. “One little girl means nothing to me or the empire,” he said finally, looking at me. “She probably won’t make it far anyway. Now listen here girl, run as fast as you can and if you find a village, tell them what happened here. At every village you find tell them how the Romans came and killed everyone you knew and loved and that we will do it to anyone who dares to rise up against us. Now go.”

My body wouldn’t move. I wasn’t completely sure what was going on but I knew they were eventually going to kill my sister. I couldn’t leave her again.

“Birte, do as he says,” Morna ordered.

“They’re going to kill you!” I warned her.

“I know,” she said softly as Yellow Teeth took her arm. “It’s okay. Now keep your promise to me and run.”

“I can’t,” I sobbed.

“You can and you will,” Morna yelled, keeping her eyes on me as Yellow Teeth pulled her away. “If you don’t run now I will never forgive you Birte. Now run!”

Other soldiers started to come towards me and my body took over once again. I ran as fast as I could for as long as I could. Whenever I stopped this time I made sure I was well hidden.

A few days later I made it to a neighboring village and told them what happened. I never saw my sister again, but I know now what happened to her and what she did for me. I promised myself I would repay her for her sacrifice and I spent these last ten years learning how to fight. Sitting here now, as a Druid priest paints blessings and protective wards on my body, I prepare myself mentally for the battle I am about to fight against the Roman animals who took the life of my loved ones and suppressed my people for years.

Today I will repay my sister’s courage and maybe even thank her in person.

The Beginning and End of Seasons - by Taylee Fromm

And with the passing seasons go

Your life, your youth, your heart, and soul.

Although you know and understand

That someday it will be the end

You do not think of finished life

Because you know it won’t be for a time.

The second you are born is the second you start dying. With every second, every minute, every hour your life continues on, you get that much closer to the time when you will exist no more in this world except for in a memory. But it’s not just you; it is every living, breathing creature on the Earth that experiences this death. It’s the death that lasts your entire lifetime, and your heart slowly but surely ticks down…tick…tock…tick…tock. One of the hardest things about living is that you never know when your time is up in this world; you never know when your heart will stop ticking down. As the seasons come and go every year, so does your life and soul.

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It had just finished raining out, and you could still smell the rain and feel the moist drops floating in the morning air. The sun was just rising over the big, grassy hill, and you are holding your hand up to your eyes, squinting and staring at the giant ball of light that rose and set every day. You stare and stare, and when you finally look away you close your stinging eyes but can still see the circle of light against your pitch black eyelids.

You want to run, just to run. It just seems like the fun and right thing to do at the time. You run and run and run and dive onto the soft, damp grass before falling into an exhausted pile on the still wet ground. Wet drops of the freshly fallen rain are collected like pebbles on every last blade of grass, and you feel them soaking into your clothes and your hair, drenching you down to the last inch as if you had just jumped into a swimming pool.

Looking up there is nothing but pale blue sky with the dark rain clouds in the distance, being swirled and twirled and pushed by the high sky winds. Flowers surround every side of you, some refreshed and rejuvenated by the cool spring rain, but some still wilted and brown on the edges of the leaves. Although some are just blossoming, some look as though they are about ready to die, either from the harsh wind or the lack of needed water. Though some of the flowers are starting a new life and blossoming fully, some are almost to the end of their time. But the flowers don’t know if they are dying or not; they just live the way nature intends them to. You, of course, don’t think about the life or death of the flowers. You just look and smile because some of the flowers are bright yellow, some are red, and some are hot pink, your favorite color. In fact, you smile because you don’t know about life and death; you just know that you are here.

The beginning is the most beautiful, because it’s a clean slate. You do not know that you won’t remember every single second of what happens to you in the beginning, only the little pictures that flash through your head ever so often as you think back on different events. To be young is to be free; to be young is to dream and to dream with your whole heart. That’s the difference between the beginning, the middle, and the end: in the beginning, there are no rules. You have your entire life before you, and that’s the beauty of being young. There is no concept of death or life, but simply the idea that right now is life. The rest will come later, and you know you have all of the time in the universe.

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You walk along a long grassy field, reaching out and softly touching and grabbing the mature wheat blades, noticing how although the tips are smooth, there is also a rough feeling to them. In a way, that is kind of like your life; smooth in the way it is flowing forward, yet at the same time rough along the edges. You realize that even though something is beautiful and smooth, that does not mean there is no rough patches or flaws. Like the way the warm summer wind ripples every wheat strand in perfect motion, so has your life been moving forward in perfect sync of destiny, and with every blade that is affected so is another. Unfortunately, there is no warm summer breeze this afternoon, so you do not think about your life being intertwined with everyone else’s. You just wish that there was a breeze or a slight rain so you’re not so scorching hot. You think about your dreams and your future ahead. Life is going by quickly, and now you are trying to focus on your plans of the future. Even though you are unsure of what lies ahead of you, at least you know you have a lot of time left.

Your walking is stifled by the hot, dry air. Even though you are wearing lose clothes to keep the air flowing throughout and over your skin, you cannot help but feel the sticky sweat that accumulates out of every last pore as it tries to cool your overheated body. You stop walking and lift up your arms in hope that some sort of miraculous breeze will start blowing, relieving you from this natural sauna. As you lift up your arm you can’t help but notice the sweat that is accumulated in droplets against the backdrop of healthy tanned skin, firm without a hint of age except for the small scars of scrapes and cuts from your faded childhood. You do not think about the scars that are to come; only the injuries that have happened and the great things to come. The good thing about being in the middle is you still have time to live. But you do not need to worry about that, because life is now. The rest will come later, and you know you have all the time in the universe.

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You are sitting on your soft couch with your elbow propped up on a pillow, your weary head resting on your outspread hand. You are watching your older daughter playing with your young son. They are gathering the pounds of leaves on the ground, making piles that come up to their wastes, grabbing each other’s hand, then counting One, Two, THREE before jumping into the pile and scattering the leaves once again. You can’t help but smile as they laugh and play, finally flopping on their backs from exhaustion and staring up at the sky through the leaves, still grinning. In a way, you feel a jealousy towards the youth they still have. You wish you could feel the excitement of Halloween and smell the spices of pumpkins and apples, but those senses have dulled like the years.

The trees that surround your house are tired and worn out, like they are waiting for this world of losing everything they have to offer to finally be over. You wish you were those trees on that sweet autumn day; even though the trees’ entire worlds are about to come to an abrupt halt with the first winter freeze, they get to start completely over in the upcoming spring. The trees could come back bigger and more refreshed than ever before, with new beautiful leaves and new beautiful fruit. That may have been the case with you when you were younger, but that is not so anymore. You have gotten past the point where every year that goes by brings a new fulfillment of your life, soul, and body. Every passing day is your slow declinement. But you do not think about that. You do not realize the crow’s feet that have been creeping steadily from the corners of your eyes. You do not notice your skin getting more and looser and the months wear on. The only thing you do notice is that you are constantly hearing about the deaths of people you know or knew, their life spans going to zero. People who are your age. You do not think about this, but instead think about the time that you have left. Life is now. The rest will come later. And you know you have many more years ahead. All the time in the universe.

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You stare blankly at your television. You squint unsurely through your thick glasses, opening and closing them habitually, trying to make the people and the pictures come into focus. Even if you could see, you could not hear anything they were saying. So you take the remote, spend a minute or two studying the buttons, and finally turn the up the volume so you can hear the newsman. You don’t understand much of what he’s talking about, but still stare at the screen with an intense look on your face and a need in your heart to understand, just so you can understand something.

It is snowing outside of your window. Big, flakey flakes. You think you heard the newsman say that it was going to snow a lot tonight and that it would be deathly cold. That’s probably why the nurse had dressed you in this red sweater. You did not want to wear the sweater because you don’t even like red that much. It was itchy, too.

Your daughter said she would come visit you today. What was her name again? Diane? But what are their names…Maybe it was your husband that was coming to see you today. No, that couldn’t be it…he died in April. Or was it June…

The nurse walks in to check on you. She brings you hot soup because it is so cold outside. You just glance at her, then back at the TV.

“How are you today, sweetheart?” She says cheerfully with a big, white smile.

You glare back. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lily, sweetie. I bring you lunch every day. Why don’t you take a bite of your soup?”

“No I don’t know who you are. Where am I?” Tears start to well up in your eyes. Who was the woman? How did you even get here?

Angry tears start running down your cheeks. You lift up your glasses and try to wipe them away with your crooked fingers. You are now crying uncontrollably.

“How did I GET here?” You were 4, running through the grass after a spring rain again. You were 22, walking along a wheat field thinking about your hopes and dreams again. You were 43, watching your children grow and play again. And now your 79, wondering where your whole life has gone. Life has gone by too fast. Life was. Hopefully, you will have some time left.

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You go and see your mom. There is a bouquet of flowers you brought in to make the nursing home feel more like home. She had moved in there when your dad had died and her dementia has gotten worse. Although some of the flowers are just blossoming, some look as though they are about ready to die, either from the harsh wind or the lack of needed water. Though some of the flowers are starting a new life and blossoming fully, some are almost to the end of their time. But the flowers don’t know if they are dying or not; they just live the way nature intends them to. You, of course, don’t think about the life or death of the flowers. They do not know they are dying or how much time they have left. The way your mom does not know. But you do not think about that. You think about the time she has left and the time you have left. You do not think about the day she will be gone. You think she has all the time in the universe, just as you do.

When you arrived, your mom was crying and asking the nurse who she was and where she was. The nurse was just patting her back, saying, “There, there” in a soothing voice. Your mom then spotted you in the doorway, and tried desperately to remember your name. The hardest part of your mom’s illness is the fact that she can’t remember your name. Her own daughter. After calming her down, you tuck her into her bed. You are leaving, and she tries to ask you why she is here and why she wasn’t young anymore. Where was her life? She knew she had so much time left. You just nod because you know it’s just her dementia. You leave, giving here one last goodnight kiss. Hopefully, you think, we all have time left.

Now spring has passed and summer too

And fall and winter came too soon

Green turned gold and gold turned white

Awake you from this dreamless night.

You wish and pray, but all you get

Is time, lost time, age, and regret.

Now here you lay, your time is done,

Your gone just like the leaving sun.

Time was too short, you didn’t live yet,

But seasons don’t care; it’s your time to set.

Breeze - by Michelle Kato

In order to modernize the capital for economic and social reasons, in 694 A.D, Nara, Japan, the Fujiwara Capital was established south-east from its first planned capital in Naniwa. Though the Fujiwara Capital had been expected to be permanent, geographic considerations forced yet another move. Thus in 710, the Heijō Capital was established.

From a small village outside of the old Fujiwara Capital came a young man named Satō Shigeo. Although he was a peasant, at a young age a brilliant yokofue (flute) fell into his little hands as a gift from his grandfather. Since then, he played upon it from when the sun rose till when it set, constantly practicing in hopes it would brighten his future. Soon, word had carried to the Emperor Shomu’s ears that a skillful yokofue musician was rising from the south. So, the Emperor had the boy summoned to serve as a court musician.

The year 793 A.D autumn had been an unusually rainy season for Nara, Japan. Travelers tracking through the province were seen with thick, straw mat coats atop their backs and moving sluggishly from driving their feet through nature’s earthy clay. On the first day of his journey to Heijō, Shigeo fell victim to those dreadful weather conditions and sought shelter at the old Kofuku-ji Temple. The three-story temple emitted great hospitality, ultimately convincing the boy to stop and pray a prayer. Though there was little to no wind outside, the smoke from the burning incense inside the main hall wrapped around the garnished pillars and vanished into the still. On his knees, he apologized for his intrusion, then thanked the Buddha for kindly giving him sanctuary. He prayed for peace for his deceased mother’s, father’s and grandfather’s souls. But most of all, he prayed his work at the palace would reflect joy in serving his lord and honoring his family.

Shivering, he brought his hands together, closed his eyes and dipped his head. Then he slowly steadied himself as he rose, recirculating the blood of his legs. Shigeo sighed, turned, and walked back to slip on his geta (wooden sandals) he had left outside so he wouldn’t track mud into the building. Back at the bottom of the hill under the temple’s gateway, Shigeo found a young maiden. He had not seen her there when he walked through. Where did she come from? But these thoughts did not cross Shigeo’s mind, for he had never seen something so crowned with magnificence. She had refreshingly fair skin and lips so delicate like they would’ve made the sound of whispering lovely. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her ankles trembled from the cold. She had small, subtle hands with tiny fingers that numbly gripped the raw edges of her dripping straw mat, over her body. Above all, she had long black hair that somehow pulled enough sunlight through the caliginous clouds to make her hair glisten. At the sound of the rain hitting Shigeo’s mat, the maiden turned with surprise.

Neither blinked, neither smiled, but Shigeo blushed. He had no thoughts, for if majesty had a song, he was busy listening to it. The most serene of moments passed for Shigeo before the maiden blinked, waking him to the cold.

“What is your name?” he asked, having brought his hands together to entwine his fingers. He’d never been so shy before. But she could not see his clammy fingers wrap around each other, for his gestures were being covered by his straw, coat-like mat.

She looked out at him from under her mat, which she had lowered to veil herself with its shadow. She blinked once more then answered softly, “…Haruko.”

Haruko… Child of the Spring? he thought to himself. Then he asked, “Where are you from? Where would I find you?”

“I am here,” she answered.

Shigeo made a few incomplete nods, before bowing in gratefulness bowed. Then, in embarrassment, he walked away in a rush, making the impression he understood her unusual reply -but he didn’t. What had she meant? Perhaps she is bound to the temple by a duty, he thought. Down the road he stopped by a bent pine tree. He squatted and hit his head, “Why did I just run away?” He hit his head a few more times in disbelief –he’d been more than shy.

On his third day, Shigeo reached the Heijō Capital. It was composed of nine long zones running from the east to the west, and then subdivided into eight quarters by north-south avenues. Shigeo marveled at the enormous city. Almost four times larger than Fujiwara, there were countless markets, shops, temples and endless blocks of homes. Upon arrival, he saw where the classed lower civilians were residing, for like the previous capitals, the Heijō Capital was apportioned according to rank and power: the more influential the resident, the larger the lot and nearer to the Imperial Palace. Shigeo humbly smiled to himself while staring at the Imperial Palace for he knew he was going to be residing in it soon. And with a focus fixed on the superb sight, he walked himself through a puddle.

Shigeo was surprised from hearing the splash beneath him and quickly looked down at his feet. He looked down at himself and felt callous towards his clumsiness. From afar, Shigeo looked like he had found solitude in that puddle for he didn’t breakaway from it like others would have. He hadn’t found Enlightenment, but past his reflection with the sight of his mat behind him, he remembered the maiden. The ethereal shadow behind him led him to utter, “Lovely… like Spring.”

“Aa, sumimasen. Excuse me, are you Satō-san?” a small voiced mumbled behind him. Shigeo jumped from surprise, then turned to a small, aged man carefully holding a shamisen (three string instrument.) “H-hai! Y-yes!” Shigeo answered, and made a slight bow.

“Aa, yokatta! Good, good. So you are the new yokofue master, here to serve the Lord Shomu? You are quite young… but excuse my rudeness! I am Tasaka Sono and I am the shamisen master. Doozo yoroshiku –It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The two exchanged deep, respectful bows.

“Doozo yoroshiku. Excuse me, but where am I to report to?” Shigeo asked.

“Aa, I will take you to your quarters for now. You will wait there until the Lord calls on you,” Tasaka-san answered. “Doozo, please, come this way.” With that, the two courtiers entered the massive fortress.

It continued to rain through the fall season. Some days were dry but those days were still chilly. Then came the day it stopped raining completely, marking the transition to winter. White flakes fell down and blessed the land, bleaching the streets and gabled rooftops. Snow flakes trickled down in a slow fashion, and when they met the earth, they gracefully laid themselves down. Some snow didn’t make it so far and instead fell inside the wet little mouths of playful children. Stainless icicles also ran off the ends of the wooden shops, creating jagged patterns above and along the alleys. Beneath them, bundled heads moved from the outside in, and from the inside out to the streets; empty stomachs entered, full stomachs left. Hot soup, vegetables and noodles, fish, deer and hot tea assuaged the famished customers. The towns were not busy, but nor would someone hear an icicle fall and shatter. All around, crunching noises echoed when snow was packed down by the wooden geta sandals of the men, straw waraji sandals of the monks and farmers, and petite zori sandals of the women. And, around the food stands and food shops, the people that were eating together were exchanging stories about work.

Shigeo spent a lot of his days inside his quarters. He loved his strolls outside –especially with the icy breeze upon his rosy cheeks, but he was troubled. Of all the arts that flourished at the time, poetry and literature were the most popular. So Shigeo found himself particularly referring to miyabi or “courtly refinement.” And with the closely related concept of mono no aware (“sensitivity to things”), Shigeo composed a nikki (private diary.) His most recent of entries had been about the young maiden he saw in the fall at the temple:

Twentieth day: Rain’s obligation has been sanctuary for me. It’s beautiful. And by its grace, I’ve met the Spring of my heart. She was so peaceful and elegant. It will be months before I see her again, but this odyssey of faith and hope will test and strengthen my love. I have written many poems for her, but still none have reached her for I keep them sealed within my notes. But today, I have composed a poem I feel may be worthy enough for Spring to rehearse:

A sakura tree hidden, no one will see –winter snow-

But in the Spring, blossoms of the tree, will they show?

Looking at his calligraphy, Shigeo repeated aloud, “…will they show?” Shigeo was asking for her love, but only if she felt the same way would he see her next spring at the temple. He then took out a soft yellow silk fan, trimmed with gold and silver linings and exquisite colorful embroidery of spring flowers. On the back, he rewrote the poem; he left it open to dry over night. “Will they show?” he murmured. The next day, he closed it and asked for a messenger. “Please take this to the Kofukuji Temple in the south, by the old Fujiwara Capital,” he told a scrawny man.

“Hai! Wakarimashita! Yes, understood!” confirmed the messenger and took flight. “The Kofukuji Temple? Does the young master not know it was rebuilt here, in Gekyō, the Outer Capital?” thought the messenger as he ran past it. But he shrugged and kept to his perfected pace. When he did reach the ruins, he placed the wrapped fan between the steps and the temple building.

Winter lingered longer than expected that year. Its days were filled with long hours of performances, both group and individual. He worked hard everyday learning new songs and playing the old ones. Additionally, Shigeo’s nights often became sleepless. But importantly, the Emperor found favor with Shigeo and it was expected he’d stay in Heijō and remain the yokofue master.

The year 794 came slowly but surely. Winter dissolved and spring was once more, with thawing snow in the valleys and on the slopes of the surrounding hills in the east and west. Temperatures rose, beckoning all creatures to wake and resume their festivals. Foxes peered out from their burrows, rabbits from their holes, and deer from their dens in the thickets. Notably, the flowers woke, straightened, and unfolded their supple petals. Dew was found on them every morning, creating what seemed like an infinite sparkle across the land. On one of those spring mornings, Shigeo opened his eyes his incredibly morbid and washed out ceiling, but imagined her face; “Will they show?” he whispered to himself, and reached out to the ceiling to caress the air.

On the first day of Spring, Shigeo put in a request to travel home and pay respects to his family’s graves. Understanding Shigeo was far from home and had respects to honor, the Emperor consented.

“ ‘Please return to me’ said the good Lord,” Tasaka-san told Shigeo, “And he said this in the most sincere manner Satō-san As honored as you should be, he is humbly honored to have you as a musician.”

“Hai! Wakarimashita! Understood!” returned Shigeo, and bowed with gratitude.

On the third day of Shigeo’s trip, Shigeo started to recognize the most of the distinguished landmarks in the area. They marked the path he took the year before, and comforted him; there was always more than one way to get to one place. He came to a pine tree that toiled in the raging winds long ago, causing it to bend to its mercy. Having triggered his memory, Shigeo immediately turned down onto a path that lead into the forest. About an hour passed before he reached the end of the path. Only small ruins and debris were at the end. With his hands on his knees, Shigeo wearily pushed out, “Ee?”

“Ano…Well…then the path to the temple must’ve been further than I remembered,” Shigeo thought.

A few hours later, Shigeo found another path that turned into the forest; it was half a mile down from the first path he turned onto. In a matter of minutes Shigeo had reached the end of the path and the Kofuku-ji Temple. “Aa! Yokatta! Good! So it didn’t move after all,” Shigeo said aloud. “Ee, but that was strange. I truly thought the temple was down the path next to the withered pine tree.” He smiled to himself, scratched the back of his head and chuckled in embarrassment. When he was done scratching his head, he looked up to the temple’s main hall. “Will they show…,” he repeated.

He walked up the stairs and up to the temple’s front. There, he removed his geta and stepped onto the wood corridor. Then he turned around and bent over to rotate his geta so it wouldn’t face the temple; that way, he would be able to slip it back on and leave. “But I won’t leave, not without her,” he thought. He went into the main hall and found more burning incense like that cold day in Fall. But Haruko was nowhere to be found. There was not much extension to the simple Kofuku-ji Temple, so Shigeo was beginning to lose heart. He looked all over the temple grounds, on the sides where the fountains were, in the back where only dense forest grew wildly. She did not love him.

Shigeo dropped down to the corridor and sat. There was no song dividing his attention nor were there any thoughts of dismay; Shigeo just sat there.

He came around after another hour of just sitting. He went back to the main hall and prayed for his family then returned to slip on his geta and leave. But back at the bottom of the hill under the Temple’s gateway, Shigeo found a young maiden. It was her! It was Haruko!

“Haruko!” Shigeo yelled out down the path. The maiden turned and it was indeed her. She was holding the same mat she had in the fall –but why? “Perhaps she is shading herself,” he assumed as he ran down the path to her. He really didn’t pay attention to anything around him such as the sakura (cherry blossoms) petals showering down from the tunnel the trees made along the path.

“Haruko!” Shigeo repeated.

She looked out at him from under her mat, which she had lowered to veil herself with its shadow.

“Haruko, you received my fan?” he asked her. She nodded and removed the mat from her back. Standing with almost perfect posture, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a fan. She opened it and lifted it to her face.

“Haruko…” he said softly, and brought his hand to the fan. He gently gripped it and pulled it down. With his other hand, he touched her face. She was absolutely angelic. Petals fell in her hair, and the sunshine made it glisten. From her face, his hand moved back into her hair where he ran his fingers through it. Almost in sync, they closed their eyes and kissed. They held each other long enough to call it a season. If anything was more full of jubilation than the festivals the animals and spirits had in Spring, it was Shigeo’s heart. He took her by the hand and they ran off together to a field up past the temple. They rolled in it and shared the sky together; both of them were feeling the breeze. They spent the rest of the day in that field. Shigeo played songs on the yokofue for her. He also tried to recite a haiku for her but alas, he had a hard time comparing her charm to the tributes of nature.

“Haruko,” Shigeo began, “…will you come back to the castle with me? We could share my quarters there.”

“I cannot leave this temple,” she said softly.

“But why not?” he questioned.

“I am here…” she said. Shigeo was stumped with the reply, but it didn’t take him long to find a way to spend his life with her.

“Wait for me. I will return to the castle and request leave,” he told her. When he said this, dark clouds rolled over the field they were laying in.

“But seppuku! He will have you commit suicide by disembowelment!” she said.

Just then, rain began to descend from the dreary clouds. Quick to their feet, they ran back to the temple. On the way, Haruko stumbled over a loose root. When Shigeo felt her hand slip out of his, he slammed his geta into the mud and stopped. He then ran back to her and picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. Back at the temple, Shigeo found an abandoned room with sheets in the alcove, so he quickly but gently laid her down on the tatami mats and covered her. He marveled at her beauty but also at how light she was. She had an incredibly small frame and felt as light as a feather when he picked her up off the ground. Her eyes were closed, and her nose crinkled as if she were in distress. He placed his hand upon her fore head and sure enough it was hot –she was sick. Shigeo was given three days to make his trip home and three more days to return to the capital. With that in mind, Shigeo decided he’d stay with her for two days and try to run back to Heijō on the third. He held her hand with his left and stroked her face with his right.

He gathered herbs around the temple hillside and made teas with them. Unfortunately, all of those days she was too weak to sit up. He helped her up every time but she couldn’t even bring the cup to her lips. When it did reach, with his help, it just dripped down the corners of her mouth. Meanwhile, the April showers continued while he stayed with her. The sound was tranquil and calming but it just added to the melancholic atmosphere. At night he’d lay beside her and admire the stars that the clouds weren’t hiding –but it was no good.

Finally, the third day came and Haruko was still gravely ill.

“Haruko….Wait here, Haruko,” Shigeo told her.

With all her strength she squeezed his hand and shot a frightened look,

“No! Please! Please stay…,” she said and sat up.

“I will return, Haruko!” he said putting his hands on her shoulders and prompting her to lay back down.

“Please…you will leave and I will die…Please don’t leave.”

“I will return, Haruko. I will never leave you!”

So Shigeo left her, vowing he’d return to her no matter what.

When Shigeo got back, the court was moving again –to the city of Heian, modern day Kyoto. In the year 794, a faith-healing Buddhist priest named Dōkyō became closely involved with the Emperor’s daughter. Before the loss of his patroness, Dōkyō rose to the highest ecclesiastical and ministerial positions in the land and even sought, through the pronouncement of an oracle, to ascend the throne itself. Therefore, the Dōkyō Affair convinced the court that Heijō, with its many Buddhist establishments and its ubiquitous priesthood, was no longer satisfactory for the conduct of secular affairs. Alas, the court stole away Shigeo from his Spring until the summer of 798. It was July when the Emperor allowed Shigeo to take another trip, a trip for twenty days to return to Fujiwara and then return to the Heian Capital. He was late returning last spring, leading the Emperor to believe he had lost a musician. Because of this, Shigeo was not allowed to return later than the time he’d been given. But of course, Shigeo had no doubts, for that second time around he had been given a horse to travel by Tasaka-san.

“Tasaka-san, I must find her, but I only have so much time to travel,” Shigeo told Tasaka-san in a panic. He paced down the corridor outside his room while Tasaka-san sat at one end and plucked his soul-bound instrument.

“Mondai na, do not worry Satō-san! You may borrow my horse for your journey,” offered Tasaka-san. “But please travel safely.” Tasaka-san made the offer just as Shigeo was about to run out of shuffling space. Shigeo turned to see Tasaka-san with his eyes closed, smiling. Shigeo’s paces were approximate to their relationship–far but close enough to be friends. Shigeo’s pulse slowed and he smiled.

“Hai! Arigatou gozaimashita! Thank you very much!” returned Shigeo.

On the day Shigeo left, Shigeo heard Tasaka-san shout to him from behind while he rode away, “Ganbatte! Do your best Satō-san! Bring her back!”

He rode for days as fast as he could, not stopping to eat or rest but only for water. What also happened when he rode to the Kofuku-ji temple was eerie. While he pressed on, a chill pressed against his face, and instantaneous flashes of the past began to strike him –but it wasn’t his past. In that past he saw a soldier –far beyond Shigeo in years- lying in a field with another body. He could not see who the soldier was laying with but it was clearly a young maiden for her hair was long and was strung between the blades of grass, down her back. She was laying in the crevice between his chest and his bicep, cuddling up against him while he had his arm around her tiny frame; they were fast asleep. Another flash hit Shigeo but that time it was through the soldier’s eyes: clouds above had rolled over the mountains and thunder had started its mighty pounding.

At the sound of the thunder in the back of his mind, Shigeo yanked his horse’s rein, causing the horse to cry out in distress. The horse’s cry surprised Shigeo and woke him from the delusion. “Gomenasai, I’m sorry,” he apologized and stroked its mane to calm it. Shigeo looked up and down the path. He was getting near.

He saw the bent pine tree and the path beside it. “Half a mile more,” he thought.

Half a mile down, Shigeo came to a path covered by a tunnel of sakura trees. They still had a few blossoms stuck to their branches but most had fallen in the spring time and had been trampled upon by the creatures of the copses. Shigeo pulled the rein inwards towards his chest to turn his horse but at the pull, the horse shook his head and neighed. It hammered its hooves against the trail’s floor and refused to go in. Shigeo sighed and approved the horses request to stay behind, so he tied it up against a tree.

While walking down the path, a chill pressed up against his face again, perplexing Shigeo. “It’s not autumn nor am I on a galloping horse,” thought Shigeo but continued to walk to the temple. At first sight of the temple steps, Shigeo’s heart stopped then resumed but with a faster, louder beat. He closed his eyes and sighed, he hoped she was still there –he hopped she had not gone anywhere without him.

He passed the main hall, for he was confident she was not there. Instead, he walked up to the room where he last left her, sick. He took off his geta but didn’t bother turning around and rotating them to face away from the room. He got to the sliding doors and placed his hand on its rough and dusty surface. He gripped it and slowly opened the door. In the background, the sound of the door’s bottom running over dead bugs, leaves, and splinters echoed. There she was! She was up and leaning against the corners of the room with one hand over the other on her lap. Her hair was longer than ever, her clothes faded, but he was elated to see her again. He ran over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Haruko! Haruko I’ve returned,” Shigeo said loudly. She slightly rose her head at the sound of his voice then latched onto him tightly. He heard her tenderly sobbing so he stroked her long, dry and brittle hair.

“Haruko, I’ve returned for you,” he whispered to her.

At that instant, her head shot up, causing her hair to split and reveal her face. All of her features were emaciated: her eyes had been swallowed up by ebony circles around them, as if someone had colored around them with charcoal. The white around her eyes were yellow and veins were branching off, invading her iris. Her cheek bones were defined and there were deep wrinkles everywhere. There were wrinkles on her forehead and down her nose, above her lips and surrounding the corners where her smile could’ve been. Above all, all of her skin –face, down her neck, hands- were severely blistered and rotten. At the sight, Shigeo froze. Then, Haruko opened her mouth and wept in a crackled tone,

“Please don’t leave me… I’m here! Don’t leave…” While she said this, Shigeo was hit with a smell so foul it could’ve overpowered a pile of carcasses. Of course it was no surprise seeing that her teeth were covered in gunk and brown slime. There were also black spots dotting her gums. But what horrified Shigeo most was the sight of maggots drenched with dark saliva falling out of her throat and into his lap. Centipedes crawled out from under her garments and up Shigeo’s arms, and prickly, hairy spiders landed on his head from the beams above.

Shigeo screamed at the top of his lungs. He squirmed and twisted violently, trying to break free from her embrace. When he did, he tossed and rolled over, smashing a few of the critters that were on him. Clumsily he tripped and stumbled, almost falling back into the pitiful ghost’s possession. He ran and viciously shook himself, brushing off the remaining bugs. He jumped off the corridor and leapt over his geta, then ran towards the tunnel of trees -behind him a ghost shrieked and wailed. Around him, rain was falling but not hitting him; he was running through a time tunnel where seasons were being reversed. And though it was raining, Shigeo was not getting wet. All around him, the rain drops ran colors into colors and smeared the landscape. Then he noticed ahead the rain halted for autumn to take its toll: the leaves on the trees were rapidly changing their colors. From lime green to dark green, from yellow to orange, and from orange to red they transformed. With those leaves falling out of the branches, Shigeo remembered the terrifying sight of the veins that were in Haruko’s eyes. SPLASH! He ran through a puddle. He did not stop to look into it. But even though he kept running, the memory of how his heart sank into the depths of the shallow puddle at the Heijō Capital still lingered. Ahead he saw where autumn ceased and winter began. Just then, another instantaneous flash struck him. Again he saw the solider and the maiden retreating down the hill.

The maiden tripped and fell.

When her hand slipped out of his, the solider stopped and ran back for her.

He carried her the rest of the way, back to a temple.

Another roar of thunder blasted and echoed in the back of Shigeo’s mind. Beneath his feet, winter was icing over parts of the trail. Thunder pounded again, and at the sound of it Shigeo slid on ice, ultimately causing him to slide into some snow. Immediately Shigeo was flown into some snow, where he landed face first. He lay there for what felt like hours but were only a couple of minutes. He didn’t move for some time but when he did, he lifted his face to a pair of hooves; it was Tasaka-san’s horse. Dizzily, Shigeo reached up for the reins and gripped it. With a slight tug, the horse began to move back, dragging Shigeo out of the rest of the snow. When he was at last able to stand, he untied the knot around the tree and climbed up onto the horse’s back. Shigeo’s limp body clung to the neck of the horse; it was so warm and so soft. He rode the horse that way, mostly unconscious. Three long days later, Shigeo woke and had more flashes, only the third time around, he was looking through the maiden’s eyes. Her vision was blurry at first, but when it did clear, he saw a boy’s face hovering over her. Instead of seeing the soldiers face, he saw his own. There was no thunder to rattle Shigeo’s mind, but he still leaned over the horse and vomited. Nothing but acid came out, burning his mouth and stinging his nose.

It wasn’t long before the horse strayed from the road and collapsed. Shigeo was drained, so drained he didn’t remember anything except seeing a slow flash of the sky on the way down to the ground when the horse fell. The sky was so empty and vast. If he had to swear by it, he’d say he lost himself and fell right into it. There was no more breeze –it was dead still.

He awoke -on a day that could’ve been his eleventh or twelfth day of travel- to see someone’s face hovering over his. Because the sight was blurry, Shigeo covered his face with his forearms and cowered beneath his sheets.

“Daijoubu! It’s alright! –there’s nothing to fear,” said a withered voice, the voice of an old man.

“T-tasaka---san?” mumbled Shigeo.

“Iie, no,” replied the voice.

Shigeo crept out from under his sheets to see a smiling monk. He dropped his protective barrier and sighed with relief. “Sumimasen…I’m sorry I--- Where am I?”

“Iie, mondai na, Do not worry. You are in my bed, in the abandoned Tōji Temple. I found you along the road, not far from here. You must’ve been exhausted. You slept for two days straight.”

“Aa, sumimasen, Oh, pardon my rudeness,” Shigeo said and squinted. He rubbed his itchy eyes. When he was sure he had rubbed them enough to remain ajar, Shigeo lowered his hands to his lap. There was a long silence as Shigeo sat in a slouch, and the monk on his knees beside the sliding doors of the room.

Shigeo stared at his hands in his lap.

“Where are you from---” began the monk.

“Satō Shigeo.”

“---Satō-san. Where are you from, Satō-san?”

Shigeo started from the beginning and told him of his summoning to serve Emperor Shomu at the Heijō Capital. He told him about the maiden he’d fallen in love with but could not stay with, for he was forced to move away when the capital moved. He also told the monk that on the day he returned to her, the maiden fell ill. But again, he could not stay with her. He later returned to her after several years passed.

“I fell in love with a cursed soul… I will be damned forever,” Shigeo cried and lifted clenched fists to his wet eyes. He felt if he could press them hard enough against his eyes, the colors projected on the inside of his closed eyelids would change enough times to push him back in time.

“You could stay here with me and pray for mercy on your soul,” the monk told him. “And we could pray for each other, for I too carry an intense and profound burden.”

Afraid he’d be sentenced to seppuku if he returned to Heian, Shigeo agreed to priesthood. The next morning, the monk shaved Shigeo’s head, exposing Shigeo to a crisp breeze that bit him. In that same day, Shigeo stuck his yokofue into the ground, leaving the top exposed. From that day on, the two kept the abandoned temple in the mountain, sweeping it and dusting it throughout the day. In the early mornings and by late nights, they prayed for themselves and each other. Autumn visited them up on the mountain, and the sight was gorgeous. Though Shigeo found it soothing to sit through, the dark red veins on the leaves would scare him, poisoning his oasis. Whenever Shigeo felt threatened by the possibility of her roaming spirit, he’d go to his room and pray. The monk couldn’t help but pity him every time he saw it.

One night, the northern winds swept over the mountains and through the valleys, shaking all the sticking leaves off of the branches and occasionally some needles from the young pines. The winds rattled the windows and doors of the temple, waking Shigeo. He looked around, up, and finally down to his lap where his hands were. A shriek pierced his ears and a flashback hit him: his stainless lap mirrors his lap with filthy scum that time the ghost drooled on him. When the flashback ended, he was sitting up, huffing and puffing in a sweat. Clenching his sheets, he sat –ready to vomit. Just as he was about to wipe the sweat away, he heard the floors outside of his room creak. The sound paused, then resumed. It paused again, and resumed again. A dim silhouette created by the moon projected a womanly figure, gliding across the corridor. When it stopped by his room, Shigeo held his breath and watched the hand rise to the edge of the door. It slowly slid open. A pale foot stepped in and Shigeo followed it up to the figure’s face. It was the monk. Shigeo gasped for air and hit his chest.

“Waa, you scared me,” he coughed.

The monk bore no facial expression; his face looked chiseled and cold. He made no reply but walked towards Shigeo. He stopped at the edge of Shigeo’s mat and sheets and kneeled. The moon outside fell over the temple and shined through the doors. It outlined a silhouette of the pair. The arm of the monk’s silhouette rose high into the air, with a stake extending at its end. But in the distance, there came no cry.

Shigeo caught the monk’s powerful thrust by the wrist and quivered.

“What are you---doing?!” stuttered Shigeo. With his right hand, he held tight and squeezed the monk’s wrist in the air. With his left, he squeezed the wrist of the hand that was choking him at the neck. The monk was many years beyond Shigeo so Shigeo was hoping he’d be able to cut off the circulation at the monk’s wrists and weaken him.

“I won’t let you lead that demon back to me!” spat the monk with wide eyes and death in his voice. His lips were shaking and his head was sweating from paranoia.

Shigeo continued to cut off the circulation of the monk’s hand until the stake fell out. When it fell, Shigeo kicked it to the wall where is bounced off and propped itself up. Then, when the monk tried to strangle Shigeo with both his hands, Shigeo kicked him in the same direction. The battle ended after the monk fell against the wall and was penetrated through the chest by the stake. Shigeo just sat there in his bed, gasping tremendously and staring over at the monk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shigeo saw another silhouette at the door that was left ajar. The corridor creaked, creaked, creaked. Shigeo had a good idea who it was so he quickly fell back into his bed and covered himself with his sheets. Perhaps it will see he’s finally dead and leave, hoped Shigeo.

It fell quiet –very, very quiet. He lay still.

Shigeo trembled beneath his sheets, and sweated with grave fear of the misunderstanding. From the sound, Shigeo perceived the demon walked around him and over to the dead monk. It stopped, then resumed. It walked back around Shigeo and out the room. When Shigeo felt it had left, he lifted the corner of his sheet very slightly. A crack small enough for a flat bug to crawl through was made and he peered out and over to the corner where the monk was. The demon was no longer there. In a way, Shigeo felt relieved so he closed the gap and tried to fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, Shigeo woke to another shuffling sound. His eyelids fluttered and his fingertips slid over to the edge of his blanket. The blanket slowly folded over and revealed. There, over at the middle of his blankets were lumps, making their way up towards his face. Shigeo quickly ducked under his sheets and hid. He closed his eyes and quivered in terror. Suddenly, he started to gag. His reflexes pumped and pumped until he finally reached over to his mouth and pulled out a strand of hair that lay on his tongue. With his fingers, he pinched it and started to pull. He pulled, and pulled, and pulled. He pulled the strand as far as to his chest before a scabby hand plopped down on his hand holding the strand. He froze completely.

Two beady little eyes opened, growing fuller and fuller till under then blankets there were twin moons in a midnight sky. They were yellow and encaged by the red veins. Crawling up his body, the blistered, rotten skin rubbed up along his legs; puss oozed. At the edge of his chest, her two hands reached over and began to pull the strand of hair out of his mouth. “Please…don’t leave,” it whispered. I…I...I was going to come back! I was going to come back and stay with you! thought Shigeo, but he could not say it aloud; he was a helpless prisoner of fear, and the demon before him would have been too blinded by revenge to hear his excuse. It left its mouth open. Once again, maggots covered in thick saliva fell out and onto Shigeo’s cold, naked skin.

“Will they show? No…no one will see,” she started, “...for he has LEFT ME! BUT I AM HERE! I WAIT AND ROT –HEERRRE!”

With no one left to play the yokofue, the breeze had to come and make it whistle.