Last Words
There were— no, are— many ways to picture death. For instance, you could picture it with blood curdling screams vibrating through the hairs on the back of your neck, an internal sense of frothing rage met by shattered windows and crimson-stained walls. Another picture some would take, is a loving family crowded around a younger family member wrapped in bandages— a solemn professional holding a mother’s hand and telling her the devastating news. Sometimes, one would picture it as an elder passing alone in an old, squeaky rocking chair on a porch in mid June, their only companions in passing being the birds singing unknowingly in the trees. Very few, however, pictured it without an image, but with a general feeling of uncaring, a curious eye looking towards the end with an eager gaze to what it might be like. Yet, that’s what Uzu Sanageyama saw. He saw opportunity, he wanted to know what it was like to feel nothing. To sense nothing. People said it was like sleeping, but he didn’t believe that. Even while in the deadest of sleep, one can sense things. Imaginary things, maybe, but there is no denying the active senses. Thinking, hearing, perceiving, judging, feeling. That’s not to say that he would end himself, that wasn’t worthy of respect. Being killed— that was respectable. It was proof you didn’t run from a fight, you didn’t squirm in the fangs of the Reaper. You accepted your fate with open arms and embraced it thoroughly. As that suggested, he was fully prepared for death’s visit. He was smart in doing so, as well. The preparation of his demise was just a subconscious forewarning, as if he already knew his time was nearly up. It was unclear how he died, but his body was found nearly unscathed. Well, at least, besides the dagger shoved into his throat. Vermillion streams stained the cold, porcelain skin around the open wound, and his mouth hung open, as if his last words had yet to be said. Instead, they lingered on his tongue, locked up with a key long since lost. Without much searching, there was a letter to Nonon left in his quarters. It read:
Dear Jakuzure,
We’re pretty good pals, aren’t we? Well, even if you don’t agree, I think so. After all, it’s not like you call anyone else ‘Stupid Monkey.’ Though, come to think of it, there might be a little more reason behind that. Oh well, whatever. Point is, if you’re reading this, I’m probably not around anymore. Which is okay, I guess, death is probably pretty cool. Though, I guess if its not, that’s kind of unfortunate. I’m really getting off topic, [ there’s a scribbled out word, it looks like it might be ain’t ] aren’t I? Okay, okay. Point is, make sure you take care of Lady Satsuki for me, huh? I think you can handle it. If you can’t, make sure and tell Inumuta to fill that hole. And tell him that if he can’t do it, to tell Gamagoori to do it, got that? Anyway, don’t miss me too much!
See you on the flip side, Sanageyama Uzu.
