Shriek Elegance

Grinding my shoulder blades against
A brick wall
And claiming to be framed
Probably wasn’t the best approach in diffusing my
Doppelgänger.

If I could ask her why her breasts are so
Large
And her dress is so
Revealing,
I imagine I’d only be met with
A sultry stare and feigned
Innocence.

Her skulking form behind my
Mirror’s image
Winds its way around my
Conscience
To remind me what she’s done.

My splintering reflection
Quivers with the
Collapse
Of my barricade
And the image of my deviant shatters
With the police bombardment of
My front door.

First poem for my next Creative Writing submission. It makes a little more sense if you have actually seen Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I’m actually a little pleased with it, which is nice because I’m not often pleased with my poetry anymore. It does follow a fairly rigid storyline/message, though you can interpret it as something else. It does have a primary interpretation, though. If you really want to know, you can ask me about it. I’m interested in hearing what initial interpretations are before sharing what it’s supposed to be.

Snow crunched underneath the feet surrounding me; everyone was beginning to slow their march and fan out. Sliding my stomach down the last small mound of snow, I stopped my feet from propelling me over the frozen land and touched my beak to the ground. The muscles in my neck tensed as I righted myself with ease. I followed the others into the large basin of snow and ice, taking care not to stray too far from the group.

Half of the others moved to the perimeter of the area that was to be our home for the next six or seven months. They stopped once they had a sufficient view of the whole colony and turned around to face the rest of us. One by one, they bowed their heads low to their chests, the long, streamlined onyx in piercing contrast with the soft white of their torsos.

A chaotic chorus of noise erupted from the bowing sentinels. Their cries resonated throughout the basin and fell on the rest of us like a torrential rain. We began to shuffle, lending our ears to the courting songs, waiting for the tune that harmonized with our hearts. The singing barricade circled around us as they too searched for their other half.

It was during my second shuffling venture that I heard it: the perfect melody. My heartstrings reverberated to his voice. My beak sliced the air as I snapped my head to the side, searching for the origin of the call. He stood with his head bent low on the outskirts of the colony. He wasn’t particularly unique at first glance and I thought that I may have been mistaken, but I heard the call again.

I knew.

I closed the distance between us as quickly as my short legs would allow; for once I wished my firm wings could carry my weight through the air.

I stopped inches in front of him. His song ceased when he saw that I had answered his call; his eyes locked with mine as he raised his head from his chest. We shifted closer, crossing our beaks like dueling swords and sliding against each other slowly as the song in our hearts was played lento. Our heads climbed to the sky; our necks arched and we joined as one, the tips of our beaks resting upon each other.

We waltzed without stirring a single snowflake.

Cold water dripped from the jagged ends of her hair. It coated her skin in a lustrous shell that slid down her body, cleansing everything in its path. The fragile little hand she held in her firm grip had finally stopped trembling, causing her to shift her gaze down to the small black orbs to her right. She wasn’t certain if the boy’s tears had stopped flowing or if the rain was simply washing them away.

He took a shaky step forward, pulling her with him. They passed through the rows of cherry blossoms like phantoms. He stopped when he reached the shattered gate, halting her progress behind him. The sky was alive with the pale glow of dawn, the sun laboring over the horizon.

Freedom was a kiss hiding in the corner of her mouth; its tenderness caressed her lips while its cost chained her to sorrow.

***

She stood with her back against the thin door which had been left open to let in the pleasant scent of the afternoon. Muffled voices travelled through the hallways and reached her ears.

“Daiki, you must listen to reason. We are samurai. Our lord’s orders are our life. The daimyo cannot condone your behavior; there are many fine Japanese servants you can take into your household. You must discard these impure refugees. This is the last warning you will receive,” the visitor said sternly. Her body shuddered involuntarily; the voice grated on her nerves.

“Reeeera! Come here! Oi! Rera!”

She was startled out of her concentrated eavesdropping.

“Eh? Well, okay, but be quick!”

The young boy spread his mouth into the widest grin he could muster. His incomplete rows of teeth peeled back his lips to exclaim their own satisfaction of commanding Rera’s attention.

“Well? What’d you want to show me?” Rera questioned impatiently, rapidly closing the distance between her and the boy.

“Follow me!”

“What could possibly be…” she trailed off as he snatched her hand and led her around the side of his home. They passed between the modest servants’ quarters and the elegant edifice that housed Rera’s master. She stole a glance over her shoulder into one of the open doors of the home, slowing to a stop; Ran sat stiffly upon her zabuton, the thin cushion hugging her shins and allowing her to float upon the woven rush grass floor. Sitting nearby was her husband, legs crossed in front of him and palms grasping his knees; his fully extended arms caused him to square his shoulders and his projected chest demanded respect. They sat across from three men of whom Rera had never before seen. She caught the eye of the man in the center and a chill snaked up her spine that caused the hair on her neck to stand to attention. Her hand received an unceremonious tug.

“Goemon! Don’t pull so hard!” Rera whispered sharply to the boy. Ran shot a quick glance at the children. Rera and Goemon both received the silent message that Ran directed at them and silently walked out of her sight.

“What are you doing, Rera? You’re going to get us in trouble,” Goemon whined over his shoulder.

“This was your idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, just follow me, ‘kay?”

“Alright, but hurry up. I need to wash Lady Ran’s clothing.”

“Mother washes her own clothing.”

“Well today I’m helping her. It’s the least I could do.”

“We’re here!” Goemon cheered. They had entered Ishikawa garden, the private Eden of Goemon’s family. The afternoon was quiet in the manicured grounds. Rera rarely ventured into this area out of respect for the privacy of Ran and her husband, Daiki. She relished an opportunity to admire the lush green trees trimmed to a round perfection. Everywhere she looked she found bright, blooming orchids reaching out to the sun. The only sound reaching Rera’s ears was the gentle tapping of the garden’s souzu as the water from a nearby fountain trickled into a long bamboo shaft, the weight forcing the opening down to the ground. The rhythmic landing of the bamboo and the lazy flow of the water washed away the tenseness left behind from her brief eye contact with Daiki’s visitor. Goemon’s voice broke the silence.

“I have a present for you!” he exclaimed.

“A present?” Rera shook her head and took a small step back.

“Don’t be so stingy,” the boy sighed. Rera held her hands up apologetically.

Goemon snatched her hand again and led her to the back of the garden. She saw an object on the ground surrounded by tall, blooming snowbell trees; the white blossoms hung from the branches and bared their souls to anyone who would look.

Goemon ran to the white linen-wrapped package and picked it up, about-facing and presenting it to her with a look of immense pride. Rera took the gift from him with a small bow of her head and began to slowly unwrap it. She let the linen fall to ground as she unfolded the vibrant fabric contained within. She gaped incredulously at Goemon.

“I can’t accept this!” she squeaked. The silk was splashed with shades of red and orange and dotted with patches of white.

The beaming boy let out a gleeful puff of air and grinned at his deed.

“It’s for all these months that you’ve helped us!” he explained.

“Goemon… just living with you and your family is enough for me,” Rera reassured, “I’m Ainu. My people aren’t welcome among yours, you know that. I’m so happy that Lady Ran and Master Daiki let me stay here, even though it’s a risk to your family and everyone who lives here. Your hospitality is more than enou—”

“You! Girl! Where did you get that?” interrupted a booming voice. Rera turned quickly, dropping the fine silk. Goemon snatched the billowing fabric from the air so that it wouldn’t be soiled by the earth. Rera clasped her hands in front of her and bowed deeply, staying silent.

“I asked you a question, Ainu girl,” he spat again with as much disgust as he could muster. He stood in the doorway of the house that opened up into the garden.

“Mr. Yamamoto, she was just cleaning—” Goemon tried to protect Rera.

“I am not talking to you, boy,” the agitated man shouted.

“Yoshi, please do not yell at my son. A gift is his to give if he so wishes it,” Daiki stepped in.

“That Ainu girl is a disgrace, Daiki. You cannot keep these displaced… creatures in your home as servants,” Yoshi criticized. “It is unbefitting of an honorable samurai such as you.”

“I am well aware of your thoughts on the matter, Yoshi,” Daiki countered.

“Then you are also aware of the daimyo’s conclusions on the matter,” Yoshi cautioned.

“My answer has not changed, Yoshi,” Daiki turned to face his guest, “I will not turn away a child in need, especially when it is we who take everything away from her. Our lord must understand this.”

“…Very well then.” Yoshi turned away from his host and started toward the exit. Daiki followed behind him, escorting him to the door.

He returned moments later and stepped down into the garden. Rera and Goemon still stood where he left them, their feet planted into the ground. They didn’t dare move.

“Father – Master – I’m sorry – this is not Rera’s fault – please don’t blame Goemon, Master,” Goemon and Rera simultaneously unleashed a torrent of apologies. Daiki held his hand up to demand silence.

“Calm down, you two, I don’t blame either of you, you did nothing wrong,” Daiki chuckled in an attempt to calm their nerves. He knelt down and took a corner of the fine silk in his hands, examining it. He looked up at Goemon and smiled, “a fine choice, my son.”

The children smiled.

***

A loud crash startled Rera from her sleep. She tried to blink the grogginess out of her eyes as the crashes became louder and more consistent. She slipped out from her futon and crept to the door of her quarters. She slid it open a crack and peered in the direction of the noise.

A scream.

Another scream.

Figures darted in every direction. Large figures, small figures, dark figures, light figures.

Armed figures.

Rera slid the door closed and turned quickly to rest her back against it. She breathed deeply, her eyes darting around the room. Panic rose up in her throat, threatening to burst; she swallowed it down and slid to the ground to regain her balance.

Another scream, followed by a short, valorous cry.

Rera froze. Her body moved before her mind could comprehend what was happening. She threw the door open and stepped down onto the cool ground. Ran stood with her back to Rera, her naginata held defensively in front of her; small rivulets of crimson crept down the long polearm.

“Rera! Run, now!” Ran commanded. Rera couldn’t say anything. Her limbs refused to move. Her brain refused to think. Her eyes glazed over with memories of her village – the heat of the fire, the clash of metal, the screams of her family – her eyes slammed shut and her hands moved to cover her ears.

She cracked her eyes open in time to see weighted white silk dancing through the air toward the ground. A deafening scream pierced through her protective hands. She gasped for breath when the horrible sound had ceased. Her hands shook against her head as she realized that the noise had come from her own mouth. A hollow clang rang out as Ran’s weapon fell next to her body. Rera scrambled to Ran’s side, her hands hovered hesitantly over the bloodstained silk.

“There! The Ainu girl!”

“The daimyo will reward us well!”

“Back, you fools, she’s mine.”

Rera’s head snapped up. She knew that voice.

“Not so comfortable without your master now, are you, girl?” Yoshi sneered down at Rera’s huddled body. She looked up into his eyes: two small, empty organs that seemed to look right through her. They were the same eyes as before.

A flash of silver approached from the right and collided with Yoshi’s weapon. Rera followed the silver blade to find its source and saw another armored man.

“Run, Rera!” Daiki yelled from behind his armored mask. His red armor glowed in the cool moonlight.

She balled her hands into fists and shifted her weight onto her toes. Gathering what energy she could muster, she sprang to the left, rolling along the ground and rising up when she regained footing. She ran at top speed between the two buildings and into the garden. Instead of following the path, she turned sharply to the right and crouched low to the ground. She dove head first under the raised flooring of the Ishikawa house.

The clash of metal and the occasional scream resonated throughout the crawlspace. Rera drew her legs close to her body and hugged her knees to her chest. She waited until silence descended across her home.

***

The sky wept. Raindrops fell from their celestial thrones to the fetters of the earth, losing their souls to the impact. The wind retreated into the deepest crevices of the land, creating a silence disturbed only by the soft pattering of the rain.

A small figure slowly moused across the soil toward a patch of weathered armor and limbs. Her arms clawed at the damp foliage, digging her fingers into their firm roots to pull her weight across the ground toward the others; the rain stung her skin with every desperate strain of her arms. A quick survey of the two sets of armor told her that they housed the soft bodies of Daiki and Yoshi. She clambered over to the red form, who still labored for breath. Running her fingers along the smooth metal plates, she worked at the bindings underneath the helmet.

A figure darted across her peripheral vision. Rera’s hands shot toward the katana lying discarded on the ground. She stood in one fluid motion as she took the sword up in both of her hands and faced the ghostly figure standing in front of her.

The katana fell to the earth with a metallic thud when she saw the familiar face. Goemon ran toward her, throwing his arms around her torso. She held him tightly before prying him off by his shoulders so that she could return to the helmet. Goemon realized what she was doing and bent down to help frantically with the stubborn knot.

The cords finally came loose and Rera eased the helmet off; Daiki peered up at the children. He struggled to lift his hand to Goemon’s face, wiping away the rain and tears from his son’s cheek with his broad thumb; Goemon held the large hand to his face, sobbing into it. A tremor ran through Daiki’s body as he coughed. He turned his head to look at Rera and cleared his throat so that he could speak. Rera bowed her head low so that she could hear.

“Now you are free,” he muttered. His eyes flickered and went dull.

“Father? Father? Where are you going? Father? Rera? Where is he going? Why doesn’t he want you here anymore? Rera? Rera, where is Father going?”

Rera hid behind the curtain of her hair.

“To the Land of the Gods,” she whispered.