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almondinflowerby the light of fireflies and snow
wordcount: about 400
characters: Yashiro
Notes: Basically just a quick character-sketch of Yashiro, written for round 1 of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hng_deathmatch. The fic title comes from the story of Cheyin and Sunkang, although readers will note that I rapidly digressed from the theme at hand.
by the light of fireflies and snow
Except for the rough musical dialect of children tumbling through the neighbourhood playground, your home in Kansai could be many places in Japan. The street is suburban, visually pleasing in that familiar, proper way: every car washed, every dog advertised with a restrained BEWARE OF- sign beside the relevant front gate. The families in residence all comprise the correct number and gender of adults and children.
Your parents drive to work. Every morning your father puts on a crisp pressed shirt and one of his five ties (they are all restrained in colour and pattern); your mother in turn wears a thin, woollen cardigan and black leather flats. They eat breakfast fully dressed; you, on the other hand, shove spoonfuls sugared cereal into your mouth while in your pyjamas, unshowered and bleary-eyed.
It's two parts subtle defiance, three parts simply you being you. You are not like your parents, but like most teenagers you try harder than is necessary to be unlike them.
By most measures your home in Kansai is pleasant and privileged. Surprisingly your parents do not mind your late-morning waking; they tolerate with shocking benevolence both your white hair and your tendency to disappear for long hours at a time; they bought you your Xbox no questions asked. Adolescents must be adolescents, is the implication; be a teenager as much as you like. But grow up to be a proper adult.
~~~
Most children, eventually, break their parents' hearts.
~~~
You like rules because rules create possibilities. There are 361 places on a goban; place one stone and the choices go down to 360. Add a constraint - I wish to win, and the pathways are narrower still. Begin at tengen and there are a million ways to win, but there are not an infinite number of ways.
Igo is a cage; igo is an abstract palisade, a mathematical prison; igo is the resistance you have always needed to strive against, to be yourself.
~~~
What your parents do not understand: the child is father of the man. What we love as boys we love forever.
~~~
If you envy Touya Akira and Shindou Hikaru, it is not for their talent or friendship but rather their lack of options (isn't that a form of talent in itself, or possibly genius, Isumi suggests). How it's so bloody simple for them. Their narrowness of ambition, their startling lack of imagination, that unidirectional unthinking laser-like focus (the board, the black and white, today and tomorrow and next week and next year and--)
(“You want to play a game for a living,” said your father.)
(“People do. I get paid.”)
(and okay sometimes you envy Shindou's talent as well.)
But what you envy most, you also envy least. You do not wish for obstacles -- you thrive on them.
You need them.
(and the breaking of hearts is inevitable. Some people call it growing up.)
fin.
Also, as a kind of anti-bonus, the poem that I was working on for Round 2. I think we can all see at a glance why I chose to default rather than submit this in its current form! With regards and thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blue_cage for helping me hash out some of the worst lines. XD
I
You cannot hear me. You
do not need to hear me.
II
chronologically
a sketchbook of memories:
the cold riverbank mud;
cherry petals in his wine cup;
blood on the kaya grid;
also history classes --
your dozing uncaring head,
its bright unnatural hair
oh, you are too loud for sketches!
III
Five things I believe in:
you,
summer and winter,
the existence of the soul,
and go --
yes why not believe in go
do you not know games are immortal?
IV
Dream like this:
the body that passed was wet and swollen
osmosis made it turgid
fishes nibbled its subcutaneous shallows
it flowed down to the delta and sea and sank
never to touch another stone
There are so few pleasures in being dead!
things one misses:
sex
the texture of rice and salt
the varieties and degrees of pain.
To hurt is to be alive.
V
Alive as you are and will not be.
You will never hear me again.
VI
The folds of the fan are creased;
This is the hand that I will answer.
wordcount: about 400
characters: Yashiro
Notes: Basically just a quick character-sketch of Yashiro, written for round 1 of
hng_deathmatch. The fic title comes from the story of Cheyin and Sunkang, although readers will note that I rapidly digressed from the theme at hand. by the light of fireflies and snow
Except for the rough musical dialect of children tumbling through the neighbourhood playground, your home in Kansai could be many places in Japan. The street is suburban, visually pleasing in that familiar, proper way: every car washed, every dog advertised with a restrained BEWARE OF- sign beside the relevant front gate. The families in residence all comprise the correct number and gender of adults and children.
Your parents drive to work. Every morning your father puts on a crisp pressed shirt and one of his five ties (they are all restrained in colour and pattern); your mother in turn wears a thin, woollen cardigan and black leather flats. They eat breakfast fully dressed; you, on the other hand, shove spoonfuls sugared cereal into your mouth while in your pyjamas, unshowered and bleary-eyed.
It's two parts subtle defiance, three parts simply you being you. You are not like your parents, but like most teenagers you try harder than is necessary to be unlike them.
By most measures your home in Kansai is pleasant and privileged. Surprisingly your parents do not mind your late-morning waking; they tolerate with shocking benevolence both your white hair and your tendency to disappear for long hours at a time; they bought you your Xbox no questions asked. Adolescents must be adolescents, is the implication; be a teenager as much as you like. But grow up to be a proper adult.
Most children, eventually, break their parents' hearts.
You like rules because rules create possibilities. There are 361 places on a goban; place one stone and the choices go down to 360. Add a constraint - I wish to win, and the pathways are narrower still. Begin at tengen and there are a million ways to win, but there are not an infinite number of ways.
Igo is a cage; igo is an abstract palisade, a mathematical prison; igo is the resistance you have always needed to strive against, to be yourself.
What your parents do not understand: the child is father of the man. What we love as boys we love forever.
If you envy Touya Akira and Shindou Hikaru, it is not for their talent or friendship but rather their lack of options (isn't that a form of talent in itself, or possibly genius, Isumi suggests). How it's so bloody simple for them. Their narrowness of ambition, their startling lack of imagination, that unidirectional unthinking laser-like focus (the board, the black and white, today and tomorrow and next week and next year and--)
(“You want to play a game for a living,” said your father.)
(“People do. I get paid.”)
(and okay sometimes you envy Shindou's talent as well.)
But what you envy most, you also envy least. You do not wish for obstacles -- you thrive on them.
You need them.
(and the breaking of hearts is inevitable. Some people call it growing up.)
fin.
Also, as a kind of anti-bonus, the poem that I was working on for Round 2. I think we can all see at a glance why I chose to default rather than submit this in its current form! With regards and thanks to
blue_cage for helping me hash out some of the worst lines. XD I
You cannot hear me. You
do not need to hear me.
II
chronologically
a sketchbook of memories:
the cold riverbank mud;
cherry petals in his wine cup;
blood on the kaya grid;
also history classes --
your dozing uncaring head,
its bright unnatural hair
oh, you are too loud for sketches!
III
Five things I believe in:
you,
summer and winter,
the existence of the soul,
and go --
yes why not believe in go
do you not know games are immortal?
IV
Dream like this:
the body that passed was wet and swollen
osmosis made it turgid
fishes nibbled its subcutaneous shallows
it flowed down to the delta and sea and sank
never to touch another stone
There are so few pleasures in being dead!
things one misses:
sex
the texture of rice and salt
the varieties and degrees of pain.
To hurt is to be alive.
V
Alive as you are and will not be.
You will never hear me again.
VI
The folds of the fan are creased;
This is the hand that I will answer.
