Ken fic
Whoo. I wrote another RP fic. Geez. -__-; I haven't written a fic for SK for such a long time! Oh well. :D Ken!angst!fic!
The rain outside was loud and thunder rumbled in the distance as Ken tugged his knife from the dead man’s chest. The corpse slumped onto the ground as he stepped back, wiping the bloodied knife on his jeans. He was going to have to burn another outfit, he thought with a disgusted sigh. Even if he could get the bloodstains out, this man had been particularly displeasing and the thought of putting on clothes that once had his blood splattered on it was disgusting.
Ken prodded the dead man with his booted foot and bent over to retrieve the package in the man’s coat pocket.
“I’ll be taking this. You should know better than to steal things, sir. Maybe you would have died from being old instead of this.”
He doubted the man could hear and it wasn’t likely that he would have died from old age. Committing crimes from minor robberies to murder, there wasn’t a single crime that the man hadn’t done. Dying of old age wasn’t likely at all.
Slipping the package into his pocket, he drew a lighter from another pocket with his gloved hand. He watched as the flickering fire danced and dropped it onto the corpse. The flame quickly spread, devouring the man’s clothes and licking hungrily at his hardening body.
“Goodbye, sir. Hope you have nice trip in hell.”
Ken bowed to the body and left the warehouse, walking out into the pouring rain. Soon the warehouse would be nothing more than ash along with the corpse. He was almost sure that no one would miss the man.
He paused to take a deep breath and let it out slowly to cool the smoldering anger he still felt. The freezing rain pounded on him and slowly slid down his blood splattered body. Rain mixed with blood dripped onto the ground and was diluted with more water until it left almost no trace of blood.
He stared at his hands, watching as the rain washed away the blood that had stained them and couldn’t help, but laugh. His hands were so stained with blood and death that they would never be clean. No amount of washing or cleansing could change that fact.
Ken lifted his face to the sky, relishing the cool, pounding rain that washed his face. His eyes slid closed and he could see the scene as clearly as the day it had happened.
He trembled and dropped the blood stained knife with a frightened gasp. The towering man before him stumbled backwards and fell at his feet. A pool of red spread from underneath the man, growing wider and Ken backed away from the body until his back was pressed against the wall.
“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! He was going to hurt me! He deserved to die!” He screamed frantically, but there was no one to hear his explanations. His excuses. There was no one, but the dead man before him. His hands were so red. He wiped them over and over on his pants, but now his pants were bloody.
He shuddered and slid to the dirty ground, clutching at his head and hoping desperately that this was all a bad dream. He would wake up soon and he wouldn’t have murdered his would-be rapist. There wouldn’t even be one! He hadn’t gone out to find his father. He was home, in bed, sleeping and having a terrible nightmare! That must be it. It had to be!
But it hadn’t been a nightmare, it had been real. His eyes opened and he jerked his mind from the memory. He had to keep walking because he could hear police sirens and he was still a bloody mess. He began running, his boots splashing rain water all over him as he ran.
The rain was no help, it never was. It always brought terrible memories that he would rather forget. But he had learned hadn’t he? He had learned not to run away because he couldn’t. He had to face reality because there was no other way to deal with it.
Then a man had appeared in the alley, Ken couldn’t remember when he had showed up, but he didn’t care. His eyes filled up with tears, he was going to get arrested and taken away from his mother. His mother, who was sick in bed right now, and she wasn’t going to have anyone to take care of her.
He heard the footsteps of the man walking towards him and lifted his head to stare. The man smiled at him, almost kindly, and stretched out his hand.
“Come with me, if you want to live.” The man said and he reached out, grabbing the hand.
He shouldn’t have taken the man’s hand then. He wouldn’t be killing these people now, but he hadn’t seen much of a choice. He still didn’t.
The man had taken him away and somehow disposed of his would-be rapist. He had then begun to teach him all the many ways of assassination and killing, then disposing of the aftermath. He taught him all the many things that he had to remember to do when handling a job
Ken wondered why he had agreed to be taught by the man, but all he could remember was that he agreed and he had learned. Then the man had disappeared and all that he had left was a white piece of paper on the table with a phone number scribbled neatly upon it. The phone number had led him to his very first job and the many after them.
“You can’t run away forever. Deal with reality because if you don’t, you’ll be crushed. You’ll die. Don’t you have someone to live for?”
And he had thought about his mother. His bed-ridden mother and Mizumi. He had remembered that he couldn’t afford to die.
He remembered his first meeting with Mizumi. He remembered her innocent laughter as she swung back and forth on the playground swing. He remembered her warmth and the smell of strawberries when he had caught her as she fell. He had fallen in love then. He had fallen in love with her innocence, her warmth and the teasing smell of strawberries.
But he could never hold her now because she loved someone else. He could have, but he could only watch now because his hands were stained with blood. The thought of hurting her, ruining her purity or her horrified face was terrifying so he had stayed away and now someone else had stolen her from him.
He stood in the rain as he reached his apartment, imagining that her arms were around him and she was telling him that she loved him. She was telling him that she forgave him and she would love him even if he was stained with death.
He wished that the rain would wash away the stains, but it never would. He wished that she would tell him that he was worthy enough to touch her, to love her.
And as the cold rain washed over him, warm tears slid down his face, but no one would notice. No one would care for the crying man on the streets.
~Owari~
Well. It'll be awhile before I write. :D Going to Hong Kong in about...an hour for a week~ See everyone on the 14th! ::runs off::
The rain outside was loud and thunder rumbled in the distance as Ken tugged his knife from the dead man’s chest. The corpse slumped onto the ground as he stepped back, wiping the bloodied knife on his jeans. He was going to have to burn another outfit, he thought with a disgusted sigh. Even if he could get the bloodstains out, this man had been particularly displeasing and the thought of putting on clothes that once had his blood splattered on it was disgusting.
Ken prodded the dead man with his booted foot and bent over to retrieve the package in the man’s coat pocket.
“I’ll be taking this. You should know better than to steal things, sir. Maybe you would have died from being old instead of this.”
He doubted the man could hear and it wasn’t likely that he would have died from old age. Committing crimes from minor robberies to murder, there wasn’t a single crime that the man hadn’t done. Dying of old age wasn’t likely at all.
Slipping the package into his pocket, he drew a lighter from another pocket with his gloved hand. He watched as the flickering fire danced and dropped it onto the corpse. The flame quickly spread, devouring the man’s clothes and licking hungrily at his hardening body.
“Goodbye, sir. Hope you have nice trip in hell.”
Ken bowed to the body and left the warehouse, walking out into the pouring rain. Soon the warehouse would be nothing more than ash along with the corpse. He was almost sure that no one would miss the man.
He paused to take a deep breath and let it out slowly to cool the smoldering anger he still felt. The freezing rain pounded on him and slowly slid down his blood splattered body. Rain mixed with blood dripped onto the ground and was diluted with more water until it left almost no trace of blood.
He stared at his hands, watching as the rain washed away the blood that had stained them and couldn’t help, but laugh. His hands were so stained with blood and death that they would never be clean. No amount of washing or cleansing could change that fact.
Ken lifted his face to the sky, relishing the cool, pounding rain that washed his face. His eyes slid closed and he could see the scene as clearly as the day it had happened.
He trembled and dropped the blood stained knife with a frightened gasp. The towering man before him stumbled backwards and fell at his feet. A pool of red spread from underneath the man, growing wider and Ken backed away from the body until his back was pressed against the wall.
“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! He was going to hurt me! He deserved to die!” He screamed frantically, but there was no one to hear his explanations. His excuses. There was no one, but the dead man before him. His hands were so red. He wiped them over and over on his pants, but now his pants were bloody.
He shuddered and slid to the dirty ground, clutching at his head and hoping desperately that this was all a bad dream. He would wake up soon and he wouldn’t have murdered his would-be rapist. There wouldn’t even be one! He hadn’t gone out to find his father. He was home, in bed, sleeping and having a terrible nightmare! That must be it. It had to be!
But it hadn’t been a nightmare, it had been real. His eyes opened and he jerked his mind from the memory. He had to keep walking because he could hear police sirens and he was still a bloody mess. He began running, his boots splashing rain water all over him as he ran.
The rain was no help, it never was. It always brought terrible memories that he would rather forget. But he had learned hadn’t he? He had learned not to run away because he couldn’t. He had to face reality because there was no other way to deal with it.
Then a man had appeared in the alley, Ken couldn’t remember when he had showed up, but he didn’t care. His eyes filled up with tears, he was going to get arrested and taken away from his mother. His mother, who was sick in bed right now, and she wasn’t going to have anyone to take care of her.
He heard the footsteps of the man walking towards him and lifted his head to stare. The man smiled at him, almost kindly, and stretched out his hand.
“Come with me, if you want to live.” The man said and he reached out, grabbing the hand.
He shouldn’t have taken the man’s hand then. He wouldn’t be killing these people now, but he hadn’t seen much of a choice. He still didn’t.
The man had taken him away and somehow disposed of his would-be rapist. He had then begun to teach him all the many ways of assassination and killing, then disposing of the aftermath. He taught him all the many things that he had to remember to do when handling a job
Ken wondered why he had agreed to be taught by the man, but all he could remember was that he agreed and he had learned. Then the man had disappeared and all that he had left was a white piece of paper on the table with a phone number scribbled neatly upon it. The phone number had led him to his very first job and the many after them.
“You can’t run away forever. Deal with reality because if you don’t, you’ll be crushed. You’ll die. Don’t you have someone to live for?”
And he had thought about his mother. His bed-ridden mother and Mizumi. He had remembered that he couldn’t afford to die.
He remembered his first meeting with Mizumi. He remembered her innocent laughter as she swung back and forth on the playground swing. He remembered her warmth and the smell of strawberries when he had caught her as she fell. He had fallen in love then. He had fallen in love with her innocence, her warmth and the teasing smell of strawberries.
But he could never hold her now because she loved someone else. He could have, but he could only watch now because his hands were stained with blood. The thought of hurting her, ruining her purity or her horrified face was terrifying so he had stayed away and now someone else had stolen her from him.
He stood in the rain as he reached his apartment, imagining that her arms were around him and she was telling him that she loved him. She was telling him that she forgave him and she would love him even if he was stained with death.
He wished that the rain would wash away the stains, but it never would. He wished that she would tell him that he was worthy enough to touch her, to love her.
And as the cold rain washed over him, warm tears slid down his face, but no one would notice. No one would care for the crying man on the streets.
~Owari~
Well. It'll be awhile before I write. :D Going to Hong Kong in about...an hour for a week~ See everyone on the 14th! ::runs off::