(ficlet) Without A Trace
Aug. 5th, 2006 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cicerEr. I don't know where this one came from. I had the urge to write some Kamisama fic, and this tumbled out. So very not happy.
I.
He was hungry and tired. When he saw the man for the first time, he looked as shining and white as an angel. He reached out to grip to soft, clean robes. All he wanted was enough money to buy something to eat and maybe a bed to sleep on for the night. The man looked okay, not ugly or old like some of the others.
He wasn’t good at asking like some of the other boys and girls he knew. They could entice people, ask the men to buy them for the night in a way that would make the men want to say yes. He didn’t know how to do that very well, so he just reached out to tug cloaks and pantlegs and asked. Sometimes the men yanked away and left. Sometimes they went to someone else, one of the other boys or girls. Sometimes they said yes. It was okay.
He stared at the man’s crown and the long veil than hung down behind it. It was pretty. He tugged the handful of robes again. “Please buy me,” he repeated. Some of the other men were laughing at him, and he didn’t know why. He was about to let go and leave, because it seemed like this man didn’t want him, like he was going to say no.
When he pulled away, though, the man’s hand landed on his shoulder and he leaned down. “Let me ask you something,” the man said. It was the sort of voice the men who said yes used. He stopped trying to pull away.
“Do you believe in God?”
II.
He liked being with the master, even though he didn’t understand him sometimes. He’d gone with him because the man promised him food and a place to stay. He’d been happy for that, and he knew he’d have to repay him. That was okay, too. Sometimes the men who paid him for things told him they liked him because he looked so young and innocent. He wasn’t really, though. He knew what to expect.
The man took him to some rooms in an inn. He’d waited patiently that night for the man to tell him what to do, but he said nothing. When he’d crawled into bed that night, he was still waiting, but nothing happened. Three days later, he’d tried to reach out and touch the man when he was getting undressed. He was confused when the man didn’t respond.
“Don’t you want me to?” he asked.
“You didn’t answer my question,” the man said to him, his voice chastising. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t remember the question.
“Do you believe in God?” the man asked.
It turned out the man wanted a disciple. He didn’t know what that meant, but he promised himself he would try to learn. He had to. He didn’t know if he believed in God, but he believed in something now.
III.
He didn’t have a name. This didn’t bother him. He couldn’t ever remember having one. Master didn’t give him one either, but that was all right too. He had given him enough. He didn’t have to give anything more.
Master taught him about God and religion. He learned that Master was an important priest, and that was why he knew these things. He had a place to stay and someone to take care of him, and Master even taught him how to do things. Special things. How to make nothing look like something, and how to make something look like something else. Magic, it seemed like. He was good at it, and that made him happy because Master always seemed pleased when he learned things.
Master taught him other things, too. One day, after he’d been with him for almost three years, master finally let him touch him. He hadn’t done it for so long, he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it right, and he wanted to, so much. But it was all right, because Master taught him about that too. He was good at that, too, or at least Master told him he was. Once, Master reached out and brushed a finger over his mouth, still sticky with his come.
“I don’t know what you were made for, sometime,” Master murmured.
He knew. He was made for Master.
IV.
It hurt a lot when the game was over. More than he’d expected. It wasn’t that he was so sad about losing, but he was sorry he’d disappointed Master, even if he knew Master didn’t care all that much. Master had gone away a long time ago, and he only came to visit once and a while. Only when he wanted to play with an old toy again. That was okay. Kamisama didn’t mind that. Even if he had newer and better toys to play with, he always came back every now and then. As long as Master still came, Kamisama would keep playing.
He’d lost, though, and everything hurt. He knew he was going to die, but that wasn’t so bad. Mister Red, the one he’d wanted for his toy, tried to help him in the end and he didn’t know why. Maybe he wanted Kamisama to be his toy now. That wasn’t the way it worked though. He wasn’t anybody’s toy but Master’s. He had to stay anyway. He couldn’t go anywhere without Master.
It was painful though. Everything was falling down and he was a little afraid. He sang to himself a little to pass the time, ring around the rosy…all fall down… But he was becoming scared the Master wouldn’t come.
Finally he did. He was there just like he always was. That was all Kamisama wanted, for Master to be there when he died. Even if he didn’t say anything or even care. He had other toys, Kamisama knew that. Kamisama had toys too. But he only had one Master.
He didn’t know what would happen next, now that the game was over. Maybe he’d see Master’s god. That would be okay, he decided. If it was Master’s, then it was all right.
I.
He was hungry and tired. When he saw the man for the first time, he looked as shining and white as an angel. He reached out to grip to soft, clean robes. All he wanted was enough money to buy something to eat and maybe a bed to sleep on for the night. The man looked okay, not ugly or old like some of the others.
He wasn’t good at asking like some of the other boys and girls he knew. They could entice people, ask the men to buy them for the night in a way that would make the men want to say yes. He didn’t know how to do that very well, so he just reached out to tug cloaks and pantlegs and asked. Sometimes the men yanked away and left. Sometimes they went to someone else, one of the other boys or girls. Sometimes they said yes. It was okay.
He stared at the man’s crown and the long veil than hung down behind it. It was pretty. He tugged the handful of robes again. “Please buy me,” he repeated. Some of the other men were laughing at him, and he didn’t know why. He was about to let go and leave, because it seemed like this man didn’t want him, like he was going to say no.
When he pulled away, though, the man’s hand landed on his shoulder and he leaned down. “Let me ask you something,” the man said. It was the sort of voice the men who said yes used. He stopped trying to pull away.
“Do you believe in God?”
II.
He liked being with the master, even though he didn’t understand him sometimes. He’d gone with him because the man promised him food and a place to stay. He’d been happy for that, and he knew he’d have to repay him. That was okay, too. Sometimes the men who paid him for things told him they liked him because he looked so young and innocent. He wasn’t really, though. He knew what to expect.
The man took him to some rooms in an inn. He’d waited patiently that night for the man to tell him what to do, but he said nothing. When he’d crawled into bed that night, he was still waiting, but nothing happened. Three days later, he’d tried to reach out and touch the man when he was getting undressed. He was confused when the man didn’t respond.
“Don’t you want me to?” he asked.
“You didn’t answer my question,” the man said to him, his voice chastising. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t remember the question.
“Do you believe in God?” the man asked.
It turned out the man wanted a disciple. He didn’t know what that meant, but he promised himself he would try to learn. He had to. He didn’t know if he believed in God, but he believed in something now.
III.
He didn’t have a name. This didn’t bother him. He couldn’t ever remember having one. Master didn’t give him one either, but that was all right too. He had given him enough. He didn’t have to give anything more.
Master taught him about God and religion. He learned that Master was an important priest, and that was why he knew these things. He had a place to stay and someone to take care of him, and Master even taught him how to do things. Special things. How to make nothing look like something, and how to make something look like something else. Magic, it seemed like. He was good at it, and that made him happy because Master always seemed pleased when he learned things.
Master taught him other things, too. One day, after he’d been with him for almost three years, master finally let him touch him. He hadn’t done it for so long, he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it right, and he wanted to, so much. But it was all right, because Master taught him about that too. He was good at that, too, or at least Master told him he was. Once, Master reached out and brushed a finger over his mouth, still sticky with his come.
“I don’t know what you were made for, sometime,” Master murmured.
He knew. He was made for Master.
IV.
It hurt a lot when the game was over. More than he’d expected. It wasn’t that he was so sad about losing, but he was sorry he’d disappointed Master, even if he knew Master didn’t care all that much. Master had gone away a long time ago, and he only came to visit once and a while. Only when he wanted to play with an old toy again. That was okay. Kamisama didn’t mind that. Even if he had newer and better toys to play with, he always came back every now and then. As long as Master still came, Kamisama would keep playing.
He’d lost, though, and everything hurt. He knew he was going to die, but that wasn’t so bad. Mister Red, the one he’d wanted for his toy, tried to help him in the end and he didn’t know why. Maybe he wanted Kamisama to be his toy now. That wasn’t the way it worked though. He wasn’t anybody’s toy but Master’s. He had to stay anyway. He couldn’t go anywhere without Master.
It was painful though. Everything was falling down and he was a little afraid. He sang to himself a little to pass the time, ring around the rosy…all fall down… But he was becoming scared the Master wouldn’t come.
Finally he did. He was there just like he always was. That was all Kamisama wanted, for Master to be there when he died. Even if he didn’t say anything or even care. He had other toys, Kamisama knew that. Kamisama had toys too. But he only had one Master.
He didn’t know what would happen next, now that the game was over. Maybe he’d see Master’s god. That would be okay, he decided. If it was Master’s, then it was all right.
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