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Yairi - Hunting Season | Short Story (Patreon Exclusive)
🕑 Added 2024-03-14 14:16:34 +0000 UTCTo this day, the warmth of the tear shed onto my cheek still burns. The sensation of legs moving without orders, sprinting away without a single thought, the brain numb from the pain of not understanding. Overwhelmed from the inferno of emotions, sounds of grass crunching underneath bare feet, dirt kicking up through every thrust of a foot, wind piercing unprotected ears as a body moves faster than should be possible; though the only noises that would be heard was my own breathe, and the deafening silence of his smile. The flames imprinting the sight into my pupil, underneath my eyelids, no matter how hard I shut my eyes and run, I can still see the smile, the evil, the sickening sight, unadulterated evil of an untamed lily. Though the repeated words of “Why” muttered through my dry, panting throat, it didn’t matter how many times it was spoken, I didn’t hear, I didn’t understand, I don’t understand. It was through that burning pain that I made my rule, the one rule I vowed myself to live by until my last feeble breath; singed and etched into my very being, a contract signed of the same fire that took away my innocence, that took away everything dear to me, and what even to this day burns my flesh. At the time the mock flames that could never hold a candle to the abyss that cradled my parents were nipping at my hair, my clothes, and even to the last gift I could hold onto, to remember who cared for me, who put the clothes on my back, the food in my mouth, and the only love I could call my own. Her memory is only a singed gift at this point, a couple of its petals wilted away, some corroded by the despair I enveloped, leaving the only remaining bits of her memory to be cared for preciously, keeping it in the same place she put it for me. Though my hair may be discolored, stained by ash and my mistakes; I know she’ll be safe there, I will protect her, just like I’ll protect all my friends. That’s why I keep going, that’s why I continue on, that’s why I hold myself to the vow I made all those years ago.
Throughout the years, I go through nightmares of thoughts, not knowing if I want to forget or to remember. On some days I get no choice, the images flashing under my closed eyelids, or as I escape the world resting against my friends, only to awaken to the smell of char and smoke, going from a nightmare to the present, both of which having the same smell of burnt flesh and hopelessness. On the days despair smells the strongest are the days I wish to forget the most, only to wake up the next day in even more despair of the thought of everything being for nothing. If I don’t carry on this pain, if I don’t remember, if I let my gift wither, she’ll really be gone. I left so many reminders for myself, as long as I don’t forget, she’ll never truly be gone.
No matter how hard I try to stay selfless, and say everything was for her, I know it’s not entirely the truth. I know I did many selfish things; made some reminders of the past with the intent to get away from it all, to remove the things that revolt me, to get away from the memories, to rip me away from anything that even slightly resembled him. Despite how much beauty she held on her cheek, I couldn’t help but scrape away at it, stab, slice, burn, rot. No matter how many scars I inflicted on myself it was always still there, that disgusting reminder of him, so much so that every time I dip my head to drink in a crystal clear spring, it acts as a mirror, reflecting all my imperfections I can’t perfectly disguise, disfigure, or get rid of. The mirror never reflects long, always parted with bile, flames, or ripples. Whichever decides to act quicker that day; whether that be my stomach, my heart, or my blade. The muffled sound of the liquid only further acts as one of the permanent solutions to my memories. The pain still rings throughout the night, acting as a piercing scream during only the most silent of nights. It took many years of reapplication, re-deformation, continuous disfigurement until finally my imperfection took the form of the scarf she painstakingly created for me. The pain served as my own material, the unsettling cracks and grotesque squishes forming the needle, and the unbridled screams of agony acting as sowing; until finally my imperfectation had become the repentance to my regret. During the night of the blazing sprint, my scarf had ended up becoming nothing more than cinders and ash. It wasn’t until I even reached my overworked and exhausted body to the base of home, and placed my palm against the familiar bark, had I even realized myself had become ablaze, just like them. My burning print still remains on the same comforting bark, but what was lost that day, will never remain or return.
The strands of hair blistered away, the petals lost in an incinerated game of love me; love me not, the fabric of my hoodie, my scarf, my life. All nothing but memories, nightmares, and motivation to continue on. Though years have passed, I’ve held onto everything, still wearing the same fabric that was painstakingly created for me, only altered through accidents. I keep my warm reminders close, and my scalding nightmares far, though it doesn’t matter how far I sprint, how long I run. The flames always catch up, they follow me, setting everything ablaze in the path they follow. Through misfortune, I have vowed myself to make change, to control my misfortune and nightmares, and turn them into something that can make her proud, proud enough for me to be able to say her name again with confidence. Until I follow my vow, I don’t even deserve to mutter her title, let alone her name, until I know I’ll never forget, until I can avenge her, until I can make her happy, I don’t deserve happiness myself.
I’m already given more than I deserve, I have the cloth on my back, the berries this land provides, and better friends than I could ever ask for. Without them I would be alone. I don’t think I have the strength to hold onto my memories on my own. Without my friends I wouldn’t be safe. During the time I was most vulnerable, nothing but a bawling ball of flames, filled with torment, rage, and hopelessness; they were there. My adorable, precious, kind hearted friends. They kept me warm through the chilling flames, the perilous nights filled with bone rattling wails. I owe them everything, and they ask for nothing in return.
They’ve been with me ever since I was a child, just a little boy, back when the abyss was a haven, I was guided by my best friend, my butterfly, towards something miles more beautiful than that so-called “haven” could ever hope to be. I was led towards my true home, where I felt a pulling… A comfort; surrounded by friends that always wanted me to stay. This home was pure, sweet, innocent, unlike the weed infested haven that they both loved dearly. Those weeds bring nothing but gloom and anguish, but of course my young mind thought of it as home. Despite the horrors those weeds will bring, I still always came back to them, sometimes I would even play with them, making crowns for him. I enjoyed his smile, his sweetness. Only now do I see that sweetness was the smell of rot, fermentation of sugar, the smell of decomposing strawberries that are only fit for being fed to the trees and aiding their life. Yet I was always happy to make that sweet smile, to go back to a home with faces filled with smiles, though no smiles were quite as twisted as his. The smile was always brighter when he noticed me, when he saw me, any frown, grin, or face, would instantly illuminate the room. If only I was as observant as him, I could have noticed every time I came back from my home, the frowns had deepened, and his sweetness smelt more and more of sulfur.
Eventually came the night. My friends always tried to keep me in my forestry home for longer, this was the first time they seemed to be pushing me back towards the direction of the weeds. I wasn’t worried, just thinking they were playing a joke or maybe a new game, until my best friend was there. It was so rare to see his crimson wings, it was possibly one of the most breathtaking sights, even more breathtaking than the sight of snow in the warm season. The crimson wings almost seemed to glimmer and flash in the grey snow that littered the sky. It was a warm night, where equally warm snow filled the air; though in the blur of the past, it’s hard to tell if my lack of breath was from my running to keep up with my friend, or if it was the ash getting into my lungs, and settling in places that would corrode my organs. The running turned to sprinting once we reached the clearing, no matter how much my lungs screamed for air that wasn’t tainted from sin and despair.
It was then when I saw why my friends were desperately rushing me towards the weeds; it was for her, they knew how much I cared for her, and finally I was greeted to the ghastly sight that no matter how many times I clean my sockets with tears, the sight has and will always be etched into my pupils. The source of all my nightmares, the wretched smell of nauseating rot, the appalling scent of strawberries, so sweet they could repulse a starving deer; a smile so hideous it scares the demons from the shadows, a smirk that wanted me alone, all to himself. Not even those that hide in the shadows and that dart around the corners of my eyes would dare be present in front of his grin, forcing me to be alone, even in the darkest corners of my terrors. No matter how many times my mind is forced to revisit this horror, all the voices and sounds are always overwhelmed by that looming leer, the feeling of absolute dread and death emanating from that mouth. Drowning out all the sweet noises from her, sometimes her words come out in memories, but I can’t remember them. I don’t want to remember them. They’re lies, lies that smile wants me to remember, lies that were created from the sneer that was produced by him, trying to manipulate the one thing that lets her continue to live. My memories. I refuse to let them be polluted by anything from that day. The only thing that remains true is the pain I feel.
Ever since that day, I’ve trained, I’ve learned to control, and I’ve prepared myself for the vow I made that day.
I will kill him and have the smile from his death, replace the one that’s haunted me for years.
Hunting season will begin soon, I think I’m finally prepared to leave my home, and venture into the weeds. It will be the first time I’ve had rabbit.
