wilting flower: the death of a samurai

He knew this day would come, and so did she.

When the dust clears, a horse and rider

stand motionless looking down at the

dying woman sitting as straight and beautiful

as a samurai’s wife before her suicide.

The man dismounts despite the woman’s protests,

and goes to sit beside her.

She’s never admitted it, not even to

herself, but she was always afraid of

doing this alone.

Gingerly, she rests her head on his shoulder and

tries to concentrate on breathing;

her lungs feel strange and heavy,

and she just wants to go to sleep.

Sensing this, the man wraps her in

his coat and his arms,

and waits.

- - - - -

In the shadows only a short distance

away, the hidden survivor

clutches a loaded pistol.

He aims.

But for some reason, he can’t bring himself

to fire.

- - - - -

The woman and the man sit for

about an hour or so

talking quietly,

looking at the sky,

and the man points out constellations

to her, and for the first time,

the survivor sees her smile.

I’m really tired now,

she says to the man, who

nods, fighting heroically the urge

to kill himself.

He kisses her forehead as she

closes her eyes and leans into him

so she can fall asleep listening

to his heartbeat.

- - - - -

Later, a full moon casts its lonely glow

on the man lifting the woman’s delicate body

onto the back of his horse.

He prays

alone

for the first time and

tears fall slowly from his eyes,

collecting on the ends of his beard

like glass ornaments just for his sorrow.

After he finishes, he climbs into the saddle

and heads for the high pass to

meet the others before sunrise.

It will be his job to tell them.

Nearing the top of the mountain,

he braces his shoulders to the cold,

glances angrily up at the stars in the sky,

then back to the earth beneath him.

He never wishes to see Monoceros again.