“Hikaru” studied Sayuri in the same way a five year old boy studies an ant under a sunlit magnifying glass: deadly curious and pristine, god-like if only cruel. He wondered when Sayuri will start to twitch, scatter in every way away from the danger— but the only movement in the forest was the slow rustle of “Hikaru’s” white cotton shirt, and, much to his dismay, he found Sayuri unmoving in spite of the fear coursing through her veins. Half bored and half impressed, “Hikaru” shifted his weight onto his right leg, observed, with quiet intensity, the sharp line of her chin held stubbornly straight, a bravado forced through her visceral tremble which was, in its own special way, quite savory.
The tangible silence that shrouded them transfigured into a hollow pocket that seemed to render things in slow motion. The impurity moved closer, undeniably so, but somehow with a dawdling gait that left too spacious room for suspense, sleep walking on the patchy green bedsheets of the earth. (If I listened closely, I could hear it chant MINEMINEMINE with salivating greed, a cadence that— both spontaneous and regretful to myself— I recognized in my own unspoken gaze I held on Sayuri all this time: MINE TO POKE AT, MINE TO PROD; MINE TO MEASURE HOW MUCH MONSTER I AM ALLOWED TO BE BEFORE I UNKNOWINGLY CROSS THE LINE.)
In the folds of quiet, “Hikaru” thought about the bloody mouth he and his brother must have come from— always hungry, always ravenous. An inherited starvation passed down in the bloodline. One that made “Hikaru” indulge in the scene before him as if it were an obliging sweet treat. He hummed.
❛❛ Ya sure about that? ❜❜ The timbre of delight was unshakeable in his voice, berries and sugar and almost sticky in its drawl. ❛❛ They may not have teeth, but I promise ya they ain’t so nice about it. No one ever comes here, y’know. They like t’take their time, chomp ya piece by piece. Romantic, yes, but not so forgiving. ❜❜ “Hikaru” reminisced how he’d been urged to do the same a few years ago, when that white haired boy had stumbled panting into his sacred grounds. Would Sayuri really give herself up to this? Would she utter a dying wish? Offhandedly, the white haired monster wondered if Sayuri had anything to beg for, to live for; if she had been able to moor herself to anything or anyone in the waking world of man. It nagged at him, these unanswered questions, floating untethered in the dark back corners of his mind. Yet he remained, on the outside, unfazed.
As the impurity loomed close, “Hikaru” kept his gaze on Sayuri, begging for a flinch. With a parasitic-like air, it inched closer toward her right side. The hands have always been the best way to start a meal. ❛❛ No shame in knowin’ yer limits, or— takin’ back yer words, ❜❜ “Hikaru” reminded, recalling the idiom last minute. Yoshiki had taught it to him last week. ❛❛ Not if ya replace ‘em with nicer, better words, at least. ❜❜ Nicer, better words like “please.” ❛❛ I’m all ears, here. ❜❜
