[ broadcast mind ] ► two
You hate them.
Those are snake eyes, they say, they belong on a Mizuchi. Behind your back, they gawk: I can't believe his mother is one of the Tengu's greatest enemies! And to your brother, they implore: it would be best to kill him while he's still young.
You hate them as much as they scorn you, and you hate them will all the vehemence a child can possess. And when you're alone, you curse them, tell them to just shut up, because what right do they have to say all those awful things? To them, you're a throwaway. Negligible in the wake of your father, of your brother. And every day, you look down at your hands that aren't strong, that aren't capable, that aren't what they want, and you clench them into fists and close your eyes in the hope that, just maybe, when you open them again you will like what you see.
“They should be ashamed for ganging up on me,” you hiss through clenched teeth, eyes downcast and narrowed with anger, small hands still balled up tight. “They're the damn adults, aren't they?”
They are the ones who should know better, who should protect and worship instead of condemn. But they wish to put an end to you all the same, and you feel their revulsion in their open stares, in their jeers, and in their laughter.
“Kikuo.”
You look up. Your older brother, Bishamon, has found you. And as he reaches toward you, his hand outstretched and moving to touch your hair, you are struck by his beauty. You face the profound realization that you can never be him, no matter how hard you try. You'll never be one of them. Not any of them. You will never be as strong, as kind, as righteous, as steadfast, and as absolute as him.
The notion makes your mouth go dry and steals your voice from your throat.
“Are you suppressing your feelings again?”
He always knew exactly what you were feeling, knew where there was sadness and loneliness lurking just behind the guise of anger. He pushes back your hair, gathers you into his arms -
“Come, it's all right now.”
And you cry, sobbing into the expensive silk of his kimono as his arms wrap tight about you.
Around no one else, can you truly be at ease.
(There may be demons in this world, but there are no true gods. But you, who is perfect, who created the world from the hollow of his cheek, who stands above all else - brother, what could you possibly be called, if not a God?)