Kiyomi has one year. She never thought her life could be cut so short when she spent so long wasting time. She wanted to go to her death with no regrets, but how could she possibly die with peace when her family is being torn apart and her father wo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
KIYOMI STAYED AWAY FROM THE second room on the left of the staircase. She hadn't been able to open the door, to sift through any of his things, to clean it of dust. She hadn't been able to so much as touch the doorknob since Kota died. Her family just pretended it wasn't there, as if the walls had swallowed the doorways and left it standing still. It was as if it were an empty nothingness.
In the first few months after Kota died, Kiyomi tried to enter, she tried to touch the handle of the knob. She hadn't done either. She tried again and again for weeks, but every time she neared it or pressed her entire body against the walls sliding down next to the door, the pain would become unbearable. In training to be the Shinobi that she was, she had broken many bones, cut herself and been cut, and been through unimaginable torture.
What always got her through that pain was the knowledge that the wounds would heal. How could a wound she could not treat ever close?
Kiyomi left the room alone. That was until she heard a crash from behind the door. It was the sound of breaking glass, and then there was silence. Kiyomi stared at the door for a long moment, nearly turning back around to mind her business elsewhere. She did not. She placed her fingers against the doorknob, watching the bones of her knuckles clench and become visible through her thin hands. She took a deep breath, tightening her fingers around the knob, the tan skin of her hands clenched.
It was rather like popping a bone back into its socket. You had to it quick, you had to do it right, but this felt neither quick nor right. She wrenched open the door, feeling as though her insides wrenched with it. In the middle of the room, her mother was on her hands and knees, picking up the pieces of glass with her bare hands. Kiyomi rushed forward, seeing her mother's shoulders shake as she continued. Blood smeared on the hardwood floor, but her mom did not stop.
"Momma," Kiyomi said, gentle as if she were dealing with a rabid horse. She knelt down, trying not to look at Kota's bed. It was unslept in, with blankets perfectly made as her mother instructed all her children to do back when she still had multiple children. She placed her fingers against her mother's wrist, prompting the woman to stop and breathe and think.
"I broke it," her mother said with an uncharacteristic crack in her voice. It was odd to hear, as Midori often had a regal voice as if she just got finished with a conference. She often spoke as if all her colleagues were to judge her if she showed an ounce of emotion. Kota would often--
Kiyomi broke away from the thought as she finally spoke. "It's okay."
"I broke it," Midori said, still not looking up. She tore her wrist out of Kiyomi's hold to continue picking up the pieces.
"You can't fix it," Kiyomi said, referring to the shattered pieces that were scattered enough to cover the entire floor. "You can't fix everything."
