Samurai Jack One Shot (ANGST AHEAD!)
Here it is... the ghastly romp on the brink of self-destruction! Please be merciful...
Damn the fates... It's cold out here...
I realize that's probably more of a reflex statement than anything else, seeing as it's been a long time since the cold has ever really bothered me. Training has long since put that distraction out of the way.
Yet, tonight, the cold does not want to leave my mind. Maybe it's the fact that I haven't been fully rested in a while that makes it cling all the more fiercely to my consciousness...
Or maybe it's the loneliness...
I have been on this journey for as long as I can remember. Since I was just a boy, when I saw my homeland and family taken away from me in one terrifying instant. Strangely, the whole incident seems more tangible than where I am now. Back then, I knew where I had to go, to claim vengeance and attempt to bring justice back. Back then, I had a better chance at victory. But now, my path has taken a turn which I cannot even begin to fathom.
I am not only miles away from home. I am 3000 years AFTER its' passing.
After that initial horrifying shock, when I realized what exactly had happened, it is true that I still had some vague hope of going home... Logic would lead to surmise that if one could go forward, likewise one could go back... It was a blind sort of ambition, not knowing how it could be done, but thinking it was at least possible. It was only the beginning of the journey. I still had hope, then.
But now I can only look down and wonder if my father's sacred blade would fulfill its purpose better, lodged in my own heart. Because it certainly seems like it won't be finding its' TRUE target.
This blade. Even as I hold it now, I can feel its unspoken purpose coursing through my hands and into my veins. It is seems to be crying out to cut, and slash, and kill... That's all a sword really is, in truth... a tool for killing. A blessed instrument of death forged by the gods. Do I dare deny it the blood it so craves?
Could my own blood satisfy it?
No... and I realize that I'm covered in sweat, heart and breath racing, the glittering unsheathed steel a hair's breadth away from my chest.
No... the blade does not thirst for the blood of man. It longs to cut into the deep blackness of the Evil one... my true enemy. To sully its sting with the blood of my own misery and hopelessness would be a sin that I could not excuse, even in my darkest of hours.
The sword which my father left to me is a tool for killing, but it is only that. A tool. Though its blade may cut through wood, steel, and (fates willing) the treacherous heart of that evil wizard, without the warrior to wield it, it does nothing. The greater weapon is the man who holds it.
And I have held it for many a day.
As I sheathe the blade and regain my bearings... I can't help but wonder if this is what He wants... Watching me reach to smite him and be struck down right when I seem closest... I wonder if He is trying to break my will... It would make sense to for Him to try.
I breathe deep. The night air is sweet and chill. The stars shine overhead like chips of diamond in a velvet indigo sea. The world around is at peace. I should try and join it.
The road stretches ahead into parts unknown, and I resume the journey along its length. I have the feeling that this will not be the last time I will cross paths with despair. But I have at least one small victory to speak for tonight. Perhaps tomorrow will bring word of a way home. Who knows...
I just wish it was not so cold right now...
I got the goods. Bark Bark!