Day grew late, sunset peered trough May’s pink cherry blossoms, and I stood gazing upon its dying glory. Another day lay slew across the sky, another day lived by. There was strange peacefulness in the world at that moment. Usually peace is within thyself but in world never, at that strange moment as Sun breathed its last breaths across eastern hemisphere’s sky world stood as peaceful as insides of a Zen monk. And then, like coming storm, wailing sounds stroke my ears from far behind and I turned in order to examine its maker. Middle-aged man in blue robe shouted at the dark form on the ground, he kept kicking it and then he drew his wakezashi and slew which happened to be small dog. Blood splattered over his sandals and bare legs staining it red. He kept shouting at the dead dog for its bloods’ mistake of landing on his feet. He kicked it one last time and started walking towards the gate.
I don’t think that it was the death of the dog that moved my feet without realizing, if the poor thing couldn’t defend its life, it should’ve at least died trying, which it did not. It kept wailing sadly… Later down the road I came to realize that it was the man’s foolishness and abuse of lower, helpless creature that moved me like magnet towards him. If he were the ordinary peasant that killed the dog with bamboo stick I wouldn’t second glance it, but it was not. It was one of the royal samurai. Samurai must oblige honor, courage and peace of mind at all times, this one had and did non of the three. That seemed to insult me personally, as the warrior of the same royal guard. He barely noticed my presence until it was too late. Not two feet afar from him I drew my soul and cut across the back of his knee, his leg went down and he, himself after it. He seemed in utter surprise when his face turned to look at me. “Your slaying of the dog got you bad leg for the rest of your pitiful existence.” He screamed than, I turned from his face and started for the longer road. Sun was setting, spilling its blood across young night’s sky. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of katana slicing the air. I bowed my knees, launched myself upon the breezing air, drew my katana once more and sliced trough man’s head. It opened like watermelon spilling its insides on the dirt accompanied by Sun’s dying rays. As he lived for nothing, he died for nothing. Hard lesson that couldn’t be taught otherwise. Because if he were other than himself he wouldn’t have done exact thing that he did.