Instaneous Sadness...Oh Well
but perhaps, herself...
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Kikyo pushed herself away from a nearby tree, releasing it of its duty as her support-a languid exhale signaling said action.
Her former village was quite some distance from the grave site she was nearing. She had come home on pure impulse, as she had not seen her father for almost a year upon her training to become a priestess-leaving him and her sister in the village that had once bared and nurtured her mother, and had laid her to rest two summers ago.
Her father disapproved of her choice of devotion, had always thought their village foolish for believing in a higher being, from her Shinto practice, to the Christianity of the foreign pale men; he believed in self-proficiency and that all things should not be expected from a deity…
They had never been close, and only shared the blood that ran through her veins, and had ceased running through his own.
Her homecoming only brought news of his death, one that he had succumbed to a season ago.
The headsmen had told her as much, his disregard for her father unwavering despite his passing. Her village harbored such bitterness towards her sire and his outspoken conduct-thought him impure by his lack of faith alone.
Kikyo walked upon their burial site with ease, her steps painless and her breathing calm. She had decided to grace his grave with flowers, the likes of those that had been placed upon her mother’s. It surprised her to hear that the village had buried him besides her, and had not put him to ashes, but presumed her little sister was to thank, and in the eyes of the villagers, to blame.
Kikyo brought herself to her knees, her stare unwavering….
Staked upon the mound that encased her father, was a cross, that of the wayward men from overseas that symbolized the being they worshiped. A being her father did not reverence, one among many he did not acknowledge.
He would not have wished of this, as the villagers knew all to well, yet without regret they rooted the wooden structure upon his grave.
Kikyo let pass through her lips a silent cry, as the taste of salt caressed her tongue…the tears she had willed to keep at bay, had come to make their entrance.
CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC
Kikyo pushed herself away from a nearby tree, releasing it of its duty as her support-a languid exhale signaling said action.
Her former village was quite some distance from the grave site she was nearing. She had come home on pure impulse, as she had not seen her father for almost a year upon her training to become a priestess-leaving him and her sister in the village that had once bared and nurtured her mother, and had laid her to rest two summers ago.
Her father disapproved of her choice of devotion, had always thought their village foolish for believing in a higher being, from her Shinto practice, to the Christianity of the foreign pale men; he believed in self-proficiency and that all things should not be expected from a deity…
They had never been close, and only shared the blood that ran through her veins, and had ceased running through his own.
Her homecoming only brought news of his death, one that he had succumbed to a season ago.
The headsmen had told her as much, his disregard for her father unwavering despite his passing. Her village harbored such bitterness towards her sire and his outspoken conduct-thought him impure by his lack of faith alone.
Kikyo walked upon their burial site with ease, her steps painless and her breathing calm. She had decided to grace his grave with flowers, the likes of those that had been placed upon her mother’s. It surprised her to hear that the village had buried him besides her, and had not put him to ashes, but presumed her little sister was to thank, and in the eyes of the villagers, to blame.
Kikyo brought herself to her knees, her stare unwavering….
Staked upon the mound that encased her father, was a cross, that of the wayward men from overseas that symbolized the being they worshiped. A being her father did not reverence, one among many he did not acknowledge.
He would not have wished of this, as the villagers knew all to well, yet without regret they rooted the wooden structure upon his grave.
Kikyo let pass through her lips a silent cry, as the taste of salt caressed her tongue…the tears she had willed to keep at bay, had come to make their entrance.