(ficlet) Aftershocks
Oct. 22nd, 2006 03:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cicerRecently, in exasperation over my apparent inability to write anything less than a couple thousand words, I tried to force myself to write something drabble-sized. This 400-word ficlet was about as short as I could get. Sigh.
I always loved the subtext involved in Gojyo cutting his hair after Hakkai 'died', particuarly since it's a custom in many countries to cut one's hair when a loved one dies. Also, it used to be very common, especially in eastern countries, for a wife to cut her hair and bury it with her husband when he died. That was mostly what inspired this.
After Sanzo finished delivering the news of Cho Gonou’s death, he left. Gojyo sat on the couch for a few minutes, staring at the wall, before he got up and rummaged through the kitchen drawers until he found a somewhat rusty pair of scissors. He took them into the bathroom, caught a length of hair between his fingers, and started cutting, without much concern for style or shape.
He wasn’t entirely sure who he was doing it for. Himself, maybe, to get rid of something seemed to cause him so much trouble. But he knew he could have cut his hair before. He’d thought about it sometime, but he never did. He always kept it long enough to see it flash in the light, wine-red, whenever he shook his head. Always long enough to half-hide the scars.
So maybe it wasn’t for him. Maybe it was for someone else, though he didn’t like to think about it like that. He’d only known the guy for a month, and still he was cutting off his hair for him like some widow.
It would have been embarrassing, but there was no one around to see him do it. The apartment was empty and dirty again, and he didn’t go to the bars much anymore. There was no one to laugh at him or stop him when he took the scissors and hacked off most of his hair.
It lay in the sink in long, dull strips of red, looking unnaturally bright against the white porcelain. Everyone Gojyo had ever met either thought his hair was pretty (if they were women and didn’t know what it signified) or disgusting (because they knew it meant he was a half-breed, an abomination). But no one but him had ever been reminded of blood when they looked at his hair. No one but Gonou. Somehow, that made it hurt more.
He cut off the rest haphazardly, making it as even as he could. The hair fell neatly into the sink, and when he finished Gojyo took it outside and buried it. Might as well take the custom the whole way, he figured. It didn’t help much. His head felt lighter, but his heart felt heavier.
When he looked in the mirror, he found he could see the scars better. It seemed like a perverse tradeoff. Whether it was the hair or the scars, there was always something he couldn’t ignore.
I always loved the subtext involved in Gojyo cutting his hair after Hakkai 'died', particuarly since it's a custom in many countries to cut one's hair when a loved one dies. Also, it used to be very common, especially in eastern countries, for a wife to cut her hair and bury it with her husband when he died. That was mostly what inspired this.
After Sanzo finished delivering the news of Cho Gonou’s death, he left. Gojyo sat on the couch for a few minutes, staring at the wall, before he got up and rummaged through the kitchen drawers until he found a somewhat rusty pair of scissors. He took them into the bathroom, caught a length of hair between his fingers, and started cutting, without much concern for style or shape.
He wasn’t entirely sure who he was doing it for. Himself, maybe, to get rid of something seemed to cause him so much trouble. But he knew he could have cut his hair before. He’d thought about it sometime, but he never did. He always kept it long enough to see it flash in the light, wine-red, whenever he shook his head. Always long enough to half-hide the scars.
So maybe it wasn’t for him. Maybe it was for someone else, though he didn’t like to think about it like that. He’d only known the guy for a month, and still he was cutting off his hair for him like some widow.
It would have been embarrassing, but there was no one around to see him do it. The apartment was empty and dirty again, and he didn’t go to the bars much anymore. There was no one to laugh at him or stop him when he took the scissors and hacked off most of his hair.
It lay in the sink in long, dull strips of red, looking unnaturally bright against the white porcelain. Everyone Gojyo had ever met either thought his hair was pretty (if they were women and didn’t know what it signified) or disgusting (because they knew it meant he was a half-breed, an abomination). But no one but him had ever been reminded of blood when they looked at his hair. No one but Gonou. Somehow, that made it hurt more.
He cut off the rest haphazardly, making it as even as he could. The hair fell neatly into the sink, and when he finished Gojyo took it outside and buried it. Might as well take the custom the whole way, he figured. It didn’t help much. His head felt lighter, but his heart felt heavier.
When he looked in the mirror, he found he could see the scars better. It seemed like a perverse tradeoff. Whether it was the hair or the scars, there was always something he couldn’t ignore.
