Roses Are Red, Swords Hurt

I always forgot how much energy conjuring took out of me. I guess summoning infinitely-shooting water guns had a price. Although by the next morning, that was far from my mind.

The biggest challenge was getting up.

Normally, I like to start my mornings by opening the screen doors. The cool breeze always seems to tell me Today is a new day! to let whatever happened yesterday could stay there. Even if I’d snapped at a customer the day before, or broken up with a girl the last evening—dating and I weren’t getting along then—I would have a fresh start in the morning.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening on this day.

For starters, my throat was sore—apparently running into a building on fire had consequences to your health. The energy backlash from my conjuring made me feel like I’d been run over by a truck. Kit was doing that thing where she laid down right in front of my face. If I moved her, I’d be a monster. If I didn’t, I’d likely be laying for at least a few hours.

To this day, I could remember the last time I’d done that. It was the end of a long week of studying for finals. If I saw one more equation, I was going to crush that paper with a pebble. Since it was Saturday, I thought I could allow myself just a little more sleep. I just forgot one thing: my mother hated laziness.

I woke up drowning in laundry.

Spurred by the memory of dirty underwear, I slowly rose, taking care to lift Kit very gently onto the futon. Once she was secured, I changed into a plain white shirt. It was a bit simple, but I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Besides, the secret to mornings was accessibility.

I kept that in mind as I walked slowly out of my room. It was quiet, but I knew better than to let that fool me. He always said to be prepared—

Instinctively, I ducked hard. A glint of metal flashed above me. Had I stayed, it would have cut a solid line of hair from my head.

“I know I need a haircut, but don’t you think this is a bit extreme?” I smirked.

My father grinned back at me. Dressed in a deep blue kimono, he was braced for battle—as he tended to be. The man was obsessed with the weapons of the Samurai. As a veteran of battle, he knew how to use those damn things, too.

Luckily, I knew his tricks.

I continued to dodge as I took in the scene around me. My dad had trained me to get used to my terrain fast. Anything less than that guaranteed his win. Honestly? His ego didn’t need that.

On my left was my mother’s traditional vase. If I’d broken that, my father would be the least of my problems. On the other sides were either dead ends or the opponent. Before I could let the situation get to my morale, I remembered the coolness of the wooden flooring. I saw glimpses of sunlight.

I’ve got this.

With that in mind, I stretched my right hand out, summoning my most-used toy—courtesy of the man in front of me. I’d done it so often that I hardly had to recall the smooth grip, the plastic feel, before I held the sword in my hand. Since it was a toy, the blade wasn’t long, but that didn’t stop me from launching to defend myself.

With booming laughter, my dad leapt forward, his sword swinging straight down. I sidestepped him—and scared the shit out of myself by almost bumping the tree. He swung for my right side, knowing the toy would parry him. He backed up, but he wasn’t quite as centered in the hall, his form closer to the right wall.

If I could just get past him. . .

“What are you thinking about, son?” he taunted. He rolled his shoulders, readying another attack. “Surely you aren’t thinking of running away? I thought I raised you better!”

If running let me keep my hairstyle, I was cool with that.

“It’s not running!” I yelled back, timing my run. “It’s a tactical retreat! You were in the military. You should know this!”

“Bah!” He rolled his eyes. “You children and your excuses!”

I ran for the main area. My father, seeing my trick easily with his years of experience, flipped his sword to intercept me.

But he was getting rusty in his old age.

With his sword left high, I slid underneath. My sword clicked against him like the perfect puzzle finally coming together. Caught off guard, I saw my dad with a rare moment of shock.

And then I got greedy.

Seeing his distraction, I had only a second to decide. Would I take the small victory? Or would I wipe that damn smirk right off his face? So I went for his open back with the sword, swinging for an offensive win and—

Snap!

‘Shit’ couldn’t express the dread I felt. There I was: a man at his father’s back, given the golden opportunity. That opportunity now lay in two parts: one in my hand, and the other. . . on the other side of the hall. He was turning fast, his sword already swinging. Should I have run? Begged for mercy? That didn’t matter.

Because I did nothing!

Thwack!

“Hah!” My father was laughing his ass off—like he did every damn time. “You always talk a big talk, but you’re the one meeting the dirt.” He held out his hand.

Taking it, I rose up, feeling for the bruise I knew was coming. “Good morning, dad.”

He smiled, and the pride in his eyes made it all worth it. “Good morning, son.”

“Dinner’s ready!”

I frowned. “Mom, it’s not even lunch time yet.”

“Just making sure you hadn’t lost your senses with that loss.” My mother smiled. “Honestly, how do you always forget about the limitation?”

“I don’t know,” I said, helping her bring the food to the table. “It just feels so real that I forget it’s garbage offensively.”

“That,” my father chimed in, “Or you let your defensive abilities get to your head.”

He looked me dead in the eye. “Remember, son: defense is only half the battle. Balance has won me countless battles, but imbalance has lost me many more.”

We sat down to eat. Even while I enjoyed the grilled fish, I could feel a sting in my lower legs. I must have injured it at some point. I let the taste of my mother’s miso soup drown out the pain. . . Then I realized she was staring at me.

“So,” she said casually. “How was your day yesterday?”

I couldn’t meet her eyes. “It was fine.”

“Sounds like a lie to me,” my dad said. “Are you lying to your mother now?”

I changed the subject. “How do you go from kicking my ass to interrogating me?”

“Well, you deserved the ass-kicking,”

“Regardless,” my mom cut in, ever trying to keep us on-track. “If you don’t want to talk about why you went straight to bed when you got home, that’s fine.”

“Yeah,” my dad chimed in. “As long as you weren’t doing anything stupid.”

Does running into a burning building count?

From there, the conversation switched to easier topics. My mom’s Fellow Fibermentals club had started working with roses—the red kind that made you think of depth and such. My father’s training business was going to receive three new members next week. I was just grateful I was out of that stuff. Let me tell you: training with my dad was not fun. I couldn’t even look at a hiking trail without the memories coming back.

But I digress.

Once we had finished with our morning routine, my father left my mother for work, and my mother left us both for her plants. Taking a piece of grilled fish in my hands, I decided to leave the vacant room for my own. Sadly, walking out of an empty area didn’t have the same feel as leaving a filled one.

“Good morning, Riku!”

That innocent sound will never get old.

I smiled widely at Kitsune, who looked like she’d just rolled off the futon. “Good morning, Kit. Want some fish?”

She blinded me with the light of her gaze. “Yes, please!”

Kitsune didn’t exactly need to eat. I’d learned that pretty early on when she’d asked me about food for the first time. Come to find out, she could eat—though I struggled to understand how since she was, you know, a toy. Being a doll, however, she didn’t get that people needed food to survive. I mean, she didn’t grasp a lot of things—sports, stars, chairs. But we were working on that.

While she ate, I sat on my futon, looking through my things. Now that I was alone, the monsters came to keep me company. In the clear, clean room, I smelled the burning papers. I felt that desk on the third floor that grazed me as I went up. I saw the thing I couldn’t get to in the center of the explosion, charred and blackened. So I did what you’d expect me to do: I got on my phone.

Apparently, attacks on government property garnered a lot of attention. Everywhere I looked, there were pictures of the fire. I saw Menders helping the wounded, smoke rising into the air, and reporters trying to understand the chaos. Scrolling down, I saw a post from the official government page.

The Taihen Advocates were responsible for the attack.

The post talked about justice for the wounded. It mentioned how hypocritical it was for a movement so against waste, be it in our houses or our workforce, to toss lives away so easily. The comments were indecisive. Many were sad about the rising numbers of deceased being reported. I hadn't even considered anyone other than Sayuri before, but those numbers were high. Others took a different approach. One comment in particular stood out to me:

MunchMan74: If we can't have it, no one can.

From a member of the Advocates, that was unnerving.

Looking back at the post, I saw a note at the bottom: Now taking volunteers. Help us keep our country safe. It linked a page on the official government website. Manually searching up the site---just in case— I was greeted with a form. It didn’t want much, actually: email, name, address.

Was I really going to do this?

Don't do anything stupid, my father's voice warned me.

Was it stupid to sign up for war now—after watching a child's life be thrown upside down? Could it be foolish to rush into battle because of one experience? Probably.

I filled out the form.