6.6 KiB
| title | publishedAt | notes |
|---|---|---|
| weight of living | 2020-12-20T19:18:00 | i wrote this in a fugue state while listening to [Waste by Oh Wonder](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ar1grAdGkec) |
It goes like this:
The First Upper Moon dies. So does Genya.
Sanemi screams, begs God, cries.
God does not hear him.
He doesn't think past the agony in his chest, where his little brother used to be.
Sanemi catches a glimpse of his dead siblings. He sees Genya carrying the youngest on his back, an easy smile on his face. His mother's voice tells him to move on without her. He offers to carry her on his back through hell instead.
His father shoves him away. He tells Sanemi it is not time yet. Sanemi curses at him instead.
The last thing he sees is his mother's tearful face.
Sanemi wakes up.
Muzan is gone. The sunrise casts warm, forgiving rays on his skin.
"Fuck."
Exhausted grief makes it easy to let go of his anger, centimeter by centimeter.
Sanemi breathes.
He keeps breathing.
Here is the question:
How do you learn to carry
the weight of living?
It goes like this:
After Muzan's final death, they count their dead and tend to their wounded.
Sanemi has survived the changing of Pillars four times over. Towards the end, they numbered seven in total.
All that remains are Sanemi and Giyuu.
Sanemi stares down at his right hand.
His right index and middle fingers seem too small a price to pay for killing the First Upper Moon.
His ring finger and pinky curl inward and his thumb shifts with the movement. There are scars and thick callouses on what remains of his sword hand—or, well.
He won't be needing a sword anymore, he supposes.
The last Pillars convene before the Ubuyashiki family for the last time. The Demon Slayer Corps dies a peaceful death. No more Pillars, hunters.
Sanemi refuses the family's thanks.
The whole reason why the demon slayers lasted as long as they did, why they can lay down their swords is because of the Ubuyashiki. None of this was possible without them—he cannot accept their thanks if they do not understand this.
Giyuu's words pierce through better than the clumsy, gnarled ones that tumble from Sanemi's mouth.
Kiriya's face falters. He cries. He thanks them again.
He and his sisters are children, crying in relief, in grief.
Sanemi meets Giyuu's soft gaze and relearns the shape of a smile.
Sanemi meets Nezuko's wide eyes.
He feels awkward.
She is a cheerful girl. She asks after him, and smiles like the sun. Every other word out of her mouth catches him off-guard.
He apologizes, the words awkward and clunky. He had not been awake for Muzan's final death, among other things.
Nezuko is as kind as her brother. She forgives easily with a laugh. She talks about Sanemi's sleep like it's nothing too bad. After all, her brother has spent a month comatose and she slept through two years.
"I love sleeping!"
For a moment, the image of Genya smiles at him. Some inexplicable emotion tugs his hand, the corners of his mouth.
Sanemi pats her head.
A soft smile stretches across his face.
He says "take care" and means it wholeheartedly.
Sanemi visits the cemetary. There is a tablet for Genya.
He kneels and prays.
"My 'Nemi... is... the nicest person... in... this world..."
His shoulders hitch up to his ears. He trembles.
Tears drip down his face. He scrubs them off with his good arm, but they don't stop. They don't stop. He gives up on scrubbing them away.
This one time, he can put down the burden of his grief.
When he does, he shakes apart from the force of his tears.
He doesn't immediately register the bump against his shoulder at first, but he feels a line of heat beside him.
Sanemi doesn't turn to look.
Giyuu says nothing. Instead, he stays.
It is enough for Sanemi.
Sanemi has lunch with Giyuu.
"You really like salmon daikon, huh?"
Giyuu's smile is almost blinding compared to the Kamado siblings.
"Yeah."
Sanemi scoffs and does not push an extra serving of salmon roe onto Giyuu's plate.
He hears the odd fondness when Giyuu says, "Thank you, Sanemi."
Sanemi's face does not grow hot nor tingle nor change color. He is not embarrassed.
"Shut up and eat."
"Are you sure?"
Giyuu twists uncertain fingers in his new haori. He dresses in light colors now—pale blue, with hints of humble brown and white. His hair is wild around his cheeks, but it doesn't drape down his shoulder blades anymore.
Sanemi doesn't have much to pack, but that's fine by him. He slings his belongings over his shoulder.
"Yeah."
Giyuu contemplates Sanemi for a moment. Then he nods, his eyes alight with understanding.
"Okay. Be well, and good luck on your travels."
"Don't say it like I'm leaving forever, dumbass," Sanemi bites out before he can stop himself.
Giyuu blinks stupidly, like a fish out of water. Sanemi turns away to spare himself from the growing smile on Giyuu's face.
"See you later, then."
Sanemi ducks his head. His ears burn.
"Yeah. See you later."
He leaves. His heart feels lighter.
Sanemi travels the length of the land.
He takes in the sights, with eyes unclouded by hate.
Something in Sanemi slots into place. It feels like he has taken his first breath of fresh air, without the sharp edge of adrenaline.
Children laugh in the streets. Vendors hark their wares enthusiastically, drawing in customers with smiles and warm words. The people bustle about, unburdened, free.
Here's the thing about humans: they've always lived this way, even when demons roamed the earth. They survive nights, deaths, losses, and greet the next day. No matter how dark the nights get, the sun will always come.
The demons still haunt Sanemi in his sleep, of course, but that's all they are—mere specters and scars and nothing more.
Sanemi finds that, in the absence of that singleminded rage driving him to the edge and back, there is more space for his tentative, softer thoughts. He learns to blunt the sharper ends of his rough edges, the ones borne from desperation and grief and hatred. It is both overwhelming and settling to navigate this newfound peace.
He takes his time relearning the shape of serenity.
When he wakes up in his dinky little room at a roadside inn, he watches the first rays of dawn paint the sky in pale blues, dusty pinks, soft yellows.
Sanemi finds that beautiful.
Sanemi breathes.
He keeps breathing.
Here is the question:
How do you learn to carry
the weight of living?
This is the answer:
You breathe. You keep breathing. Then,
you take your first step.