One Shot #22
Title A Life Well Lived
Author landofthekwt
Rating PG-13
Prompt My life is my message." by Mahatma Gandhi
POV Kohaku
Word Count 1305
Warning Character Death
Summary Kohaku attends his own funeral
Kohaku was surprised by death. Not anything like he thought it would be. He has seen many die.Naraku brought him back to life. All he remembered was being given a choice to live and to forget and having taken it. Under Naraku’s orders he had killed so many and caused the death of countless others. There were many time he regretted that decision.
Today was not one of them. Despite all the things that he did, if he had not taken Naraku’s offer he would never have rebuilt the taijiya village. Never have married Shiori and had more than fifty years of happiness with her. Never had a son like Musushito to carry on his legacy and lead the taijiya.
Today was his funeral. The day that the taijiya and his family gathered together to say goodbye the father, husband, and leader that they had all loved over the years Last time he only heard Narkau’s voice. This time he would hear only the voices of his friends and family. Naraku brought him back to life at a terrible cost. His family wished him only peace in the hereafter.
His family was urging him to pass on. To take the next turn on the wheel of life. He had not reached Nirvana in this life. Maybe in the next. He knew that he would not pass on. When his father and the other headman of the taijiya appeared that night at Musushito’s jizo, he knew that he was not alone. All the taijiya who had fought and died here were still here, guarding the village. They would be there as long as taijiya dwelt here
Sometimes it bothered him that because he had chosen to revive the taijiya village that his father was unable to pass on. He thought that his need was like a chain holding the dead to the earth. The guilt had almost overwhelmed him. Only Shiori and Musushito made life bearable. At least he was not alone in the world anymore. He did not feel that dying was his only salvation.
Now that he was one of the dead, he knew that being a guardian was not a burden. It was a privilege A way of giving back to the community that fostered you and gave you life. Being a taijiya was not a profession. It was a way of life.
Until he revived the village, the way had been dead. If he had not come back his father and the others would have become hungry ghosts with no purpose. Only hungering for the life that they lost. Instead, they were able to guard the village from its enemies and foster the new life within its walls.
Today was his day. He was one of the newly dead. People might say prayers for the dead. They might come to the grave on the anniversary of their death, but a funeral was still special. The anniversaries were for remembrance of what once was. The funeral was for saying goodbye to the loved one we once knew and would only meet on the other side.
He could only stand and watch as each one in turn said their peace. So many generations were here. Children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. Three generations of taijiya born and raised here. They were his legacy. The boon that Musushito promised him that night at the jizo . It was by their blood, sweat and tears that the village had been rebuilt
The dead had been there that night at the jizo. He had been surprised to see them only hoping to see them when he died. It was at that time he hoped to be able to ask his father to forgive him for killing him. That night he learned so much more. He was not preparing to die. He was preparing to live.
His apologies would have meant nothing to his father, if he had not rebuilt the village into a place where taijiya could prosper. It was by living. Having children. Training them in the taijiya way and recruiting others to join them in rebuilding the taijiya village Living was the best revenge on Naraku. The only way to repay the dead for what he and Naraku had done to them.
The mourners said goodbye until there were only two left. The two most important people in his life. Musushito and Shiori. Shiori went first because Musushito would officially say goodbye for the village in his first official act as headman of the village. A place he should have held if he had not hung on so long and then lapsed into a year long coma without passing on his power.
Another regret, but one which had been cured by his death. At last the boy could become a man. No longer would his shadow cast a pall over the boys life. The boy had become a man fifty years ago. Yet he had held him back not sharing the power that should have been his. For the last year Musushito like Kohaku hung between heaven and hell .Unable to move because the living corpse of his father clung to the power that should have been his.
Shiori spoke only briefly, but he knew what was in his heart. She sat at his bedside for the last year as he lingered. No longer the vital man she loved. Merely a burnt out husk more dead than alive. They shared so much over the years. Without her will, he would have never have had the strength to achieve his dream of rebuilding the taijiya village.
She had been a mother to Musushito, but also a mother to all the taijiya. He might be the symbol of what a taijiya should be, but she was one who nurtured that dream. The day Musushito had been still born it nearly came crashing down on both of them. It was only the words of encouragement that his son said at his own grave that gave her the will to go on. Most importantly she had been the love of his life. She had been with him at the beginning and the end
None of them could have done it alone. Shiori had him and Musushito. He had Shiori, Musushito, his father and the rest of the taijiya. His father had been there when Musushito spoke.Musushito may have been Shiori’s guiding light encouraging her to try again, his father was his When he saw his father, he knew that whatever happened his father would there for him. Just as he was now there for him.
When his son at last spoke, he beamed with pride. The boy was not a boy anymore. He was a man. A better man than he had ever been. To think that he and Shiori had been allowed to share his life. It was more than he could bear. His father handed him a cloth to dry his tears.
Those who say the dead don’t cry don’t know what they are talking. They cry rivers of tears for their regrets Kohaku had no regrets. He had lived the life he wanted. Now that he was gone, his son would carry on that legacy into the far future that Kagome spoke. Someday his son would be by his side again. Until that day he would watch over the boy he loved and make sure that nothing bad ever happened. That is what a father did.
He looked at his father and finally understood. His father never hated him. There was nothing he needed to do to make things up to him except live. His father smiled at him, ruffled his hair and said the words that he had desperately wanted his father to say, but which he couldn’t as head man.
“You did good, Kohaku”
.
Author landofthekwt
Rating PG-13
Prompt My life is my message." by Mahatma Gandhi
POV Kohaku
Word Count 1305
Warning Character Death
Summary Kohaku attends his own funeral
Kohaku was surprised by death. Not anything like he thought it would be. He has seen many die.Naraku brought him back to life. All he remembered was being given a choice to live and to forget and having taken it. Under Naraku’s orders he had killed so many and caused the death of countless others. There were many time he regretted that decision.
Today was not one of them. Despite all the things that he did, if he had not taken Naraku’s offer he would never have rebuilt the taijiya village. Never have married Shiori and had more than fifty years of happiness with her. Never had a son like Musushito to carry on his legacy and lead the taijiya.
Today was his funeral. The day that the taijiya and his family gathered together to say goodbye the father, husband, and leader that they had all loved over the years Last time he only heard Narkau’s voice. This time he would hear only the voices of his friends and family. Naraku brought him back to life at a terrible cost. His family wished him only peace in the hereafter.
His family was urging him to pass on. To take the next turn on the wheel of life. He had not reached Nirvana in this life. Maybe in the next. He knew that he would not pass on. When his father and the other headman of the taijiya appeared that night at Musushito’s jizo, he knew that he was not alone. All the taijiya who had fought and died here were still here, guarding the village. They would be there as long as taijiya dwelt here
Sometimes it bothered him that because he had chosen to revive the taijiya village that his father was unable to pass on. He thought that his need was like a chain holding the dead to the earth. The guilt had almost overwhelmed him. Only Shiori and Musushito made life bearable. At least he was not alone in the world anymore. He did not feel that dying was his only salvation.
Now that he was one of the dead, he knew that being a guardian was not a burden. It was a privilege A way of giving back to the community that fostered you and gave you life. Being a taijiya was not a profession. It was a way of life.
Until he revived the village, the way had been dead. If he had not come back his father and the others would have become hungry ghosts with no purpose. Only hungering for the life that they lost. Instead, they were able to guard the village from its enemies and foster the new life within its walls.
Today was his day. He was one of the newly dead. People might say prayers for the dead. They might come to the grave on the anniversary of their death, but a funeral was still special. The anniversaries were for remembrance of what once was. The funeral was for saying goodbye to the loved one we once knew and would only meet on the other side.
He could only stand and watch as each one in turn said their peace. So many generations were here. Children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. Three generations of taijiya born and raised here. They were his legacy. The boon that Musushito promised him that night at the jizo . It was by their blood, sweat and tears that the village had been rebuilt
The dead had been there that night at the jizo. He had been surprised to see them only hoping to see them when he died. It was at that time he hoped to be able to ask his father to forgive him for killing him. That night he learned so much more. He was not preparing to die. He was preparing to live.
His apologies would have meant nothing to his father, if he had not rebuilt the village into a place where taijiya could prosper. It was by living. Having children. Training them in the taijiya way and recruiting others to join them in rebuilding the taijiya village Living was the best revenge on Naraku. The only way to repay the dead for what he and Naraku had done to them.
The mourners said goodbye until there were only two left. The two most important people in his life. Musushito and Shiori. Shiori went first because Musushito would officially say goodbye for the village in his first official act as headman of the village. A place he should have held if he had not hung on so long and then lapsed into a year long coma without passing on his power.
Another regret, but one which had been cured by his death. At last the boy could become a man. No longer would his shadow cast a pall over the boys life. The boy had become a man fifty years ago. Yet he had held him back not sharing the power that should have been his. For the last year Musushito like Kohaku hung between heaven and hell .Unable to move because the living corpse of his father clung to the power that should have been his.
Shiori spoke only briefly, but he knew what was in his heart. She sat at his bedside for the last year as he lingered. No longer the vital man she loved. Merely a burnt out husk more dead than alive. They shared so much over the years. Without her will, he would have never have had the strength to achieve his dream of rebuilding the taijiya village.
She had been a mother to Musushito, but also a mother to all the taijiya. He might be the symbol of what a taijiya should be, but she was one who nurtured that dream. The day Musushito had been still born it nearly came crashing down on both of them. It was only the words of encouragement that his son said at his own grave that gave her the will to go on. Most importantly she had been the love of his life. She had been with him at the beginning and the end
None of them could have done it alone. Shiori had him and Musushito. He had Shiori, Musushito, his father and the rest of the taijiya. His father had been there when Musushito spoke.Musushito may have been Shiori’s guiding light encouraging her to try again, his father was his When he saw his father, he knew that whatever happened his father would there for him. Just as he was now there for him.
When his son at last spoke, he beamed with pride. The boy was not a boy anymore. He was a man. A better man than he had ever been. To think that he and Shiori had been allowed to share his life. It was more than he could bear. His father handed him a cloth to dry his tears.
Those who say the dead don’t cry don’t know what they are talking. They cry rivers of tears for their regrets Kohaku had no regrets. He had lived the life he wanted. Now that he was gone, his son would carry on that legacy into the far future that Kagome spoke. Someday his son would be by his side again. Until that day he would watch over the boy he loved and make sure that nothing bad ever happened. That is what a father did.
He looked at his father and finally understood. His father never hated him. There was nothing he needed to do to make things up to him except live. His father smiled at him, ruffled his hair and said the words that he had desperately wanted his father to say, but which he couldn’t as head man.
“You did good, Kohaku”
.